


of the dancing and the dreaming

by gracethescribbler, revanchxst (BadWolfGirl01)



Series: all i ask of you [4]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: AU of an AU, Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Alternate Universe of an Alternate Universe, Angst, Behind the Scenes, Companion Piece, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Shmi Skywalker Lives, The People Who Are Left Behind, despite being multiple chapters this is technically a oneshot, it's all offscreen, this was supposed to be a chapter of 'all i ask of you snapshots' but it got way too long
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:46:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 28,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23081944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gracethescribbler/pseuds/gracethescribbler, https://archiveofourown.org/users/BadWolfGirl01/pseuds/revanchxst
Summary: A part of him expects that when he goes to Shmi’s house, she’ll have changed her mind, or the kids won’t want to go, or Ronan will be home already. But he tries his best not to worry, and instead goes upstairs to the three extra bedrooms and makes sure everything’s comfortable and clean, setting out extra blankets and making sure the rooms seem cozy. He puts away his groceries, stops outside to check on his chickens, and then leaves the Victors’ village and takes the dirt path towards Shmi’s neighborhood.He used to live a few blocks down from her family, when he was a kid - like just about everyone else in the District, he took out tesserae as soon as he was old enough, snuck out into the woods to gather, although he hadn’t tried hunting like some of the others. His older brother had always been better at that. Qui-Gon knows just about everyone had expected him to get killed in the Quell, and frankly he’d thought he was going to die too. But, as they say, the odds have turned out in his favor - at least, as much as they can. He doesn’t really feel grateful, so often, that he won, but it means that now he can let Shmi stay with him.Small blessings.
Relationships: Anakin Skywalker & Shmi Skywalker, CT-7567 | Rex/Ahsoka Tano, Qui-Gon Jinn & Ahsoka Tano, Qui-Gon Jinn & Anakin Skywalker, Qui-Gon Jinn & Rey, Qui-Gon Jinn/Shmi Skywalker, Shmi Skywalker & Ahsoka Tano, mentioned, past Shmi Skywalker/OC
Series: all i ask of you [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1081776
Comments: 4
Kudos: 31





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hey guys, so this is the happier "Shmi lives" AU we were referencing in the last chapter of 'all i ask of you snapshots' - it continues on directly from that chapter. this is entirely self-indulgent and we've got 22k words of it so far so we decided to post it as a separate thing in sections.
> 
> this won't make Tons of sense if you aren't familiar with the series (eg if you saw this in the tag and came to read it), but it can kinda be read as a standalone although it refers back to the main series constantly.
> 
> enjoy, and leave us a comment if you like it ;)

Shmi doesn’t feel quite right, walking away from Qui-Gon with her groceries and her fabric in her arms - something tugs at her, makes her hesitate, glance back over her shoulder.

But she can’t tell him, as much as she might want to - what could he do for her? It won’t help any to have him worrying about her, and she has a family to keep safe. Still, it gnaws at her as she sets her bags of groceries down on their rickety table, walks into her and Ronan’s bedroom to lay the fabric down on the bed. She goes back out into the kitchen to sort through her purchases, trying not to picture the look on Qui-Gon’s face when she’d brushed him off, and that’s when she sees vegetables she knows she didn’t purchase, a quarter wheel of cheese, and some sweet fruits she would’ve never been able to afford mixed in with her own purchases.

There’s only one way she could’ve gotten these.

Shmi’s back at the door to her small house before she’s really stopped to think, and she steps outside, looks around for Qui-Gon and doesn’t see him. She starts back towards the market, hoping maybe she can catch him before he goes back into the Saturday morning crowds - she has to be honest with him, she has to tell him. He cares too much, she thinks, to not know.

Even walking fast makes her lose her breath too quickly, these days, but she still manages to get around the corner of a building, sees Qui-Gon’s distinctive tall form not too far away. “Qui-Gon,” she calls, not-quite-breathless.

He hears her, though she wasn’t sure he would, and as he approaches, she can see he’s worried - there’s a wrinkle in his brow and he’s walking with a shade more urgency than normal. “Hello again,” he says, “do you need something?”

“Qui-Gon, I-” Shmi stops, for a minute, leans against the wall of the building to her left, trying to sort out her thoughts. “You know what they’ve been saying, about Ronan.”

He nods, watching her intently, and she takes a slow breath, rubs at her forehead. “It’s true,” she admits, after a minute. “And I need to get my children away from him.”

Qui-Gon takes a deep breath, pushing his shoulders back and shoving his hands into his pockets - she’s not sure what to make of the look in his eyes. “Can I help?”

“I don’t want to impose on you,” she says softly, looking away for half a second. “But-” and she puts one hand on her stomach, “Anakin’s already changed so much, and I’m scared for Ahsoka and the little one.”

"Well," Qui-Gon says, almost uncharacteristically hesitant, "my house always has plenty of space. If you want to leave, it might be better to have somewhere to end up."

Shmi hesitates, because that- still is too much, almost. "If I went with them, Ronan would come after you, and that's more than I can ask."

"At the risk of sounding overconfident, that doesn't worry me." Qui-Gon is still quiet, but he's serious, and she can't help believing him.

Still- "I don't know," she says. "He's… volatile when he's angry."

She's unsure about all of this, still, because if Ronan knew- So much could go wrong. Will, if she isn't careful, and she can't risk her children but she can't risk Qui-Gon either.

~~~

There are only a few advantages, Qui-Gon thinks, to having won the Hunger Games. One is the extra stipend of food and the nice house that ensure he will survive to mentor for each year’s new Games. And one is the fact that it’s hard to be intimidated by things like angry alcoholic husbands when you’ve made it through the Games and had the dubious honor of meeting President Palpatine in person.

Qui-Gon meets Shmi’s eyes and smiles a little, determinedly. “If that’s all you’re worried about,” he says, firmly, “I think I can handle him being angry at me. And my door has a good lock.”

Shmi looks down. “I don’t want him to hurt you.”

Qui-Gon thinks that ought to be the least of her worries, and it’s certainly the least of his, so he just puts a hand on her shoulder and shakes his head a little. “That won’t happen, Shmi. If you want to come stay with me, you can.” He wants her to agree, thinks it’s long past time she and her family were somewhere safe. But if that’s too much, he’ll do anything, just so long as it’s better.

Shmi is quiet for a long moment, the breeze blowing whisps of her dark brown hair in her face. Then, slowly, she says, “If- we moved our things out now, before Ronan got back, it’d be easier.”

Qui-Gon narrowly avoids letting out the sigh of relief that fills his chest, and instead just nods, seriously, and swallows a bit. “Would you like help with that?”

“Yes, please,” Shmi says, sighing, “if you wouldn’t mind.”

Qui breathes out quietly, smiles. “Of course I wouldn’t. I’ve just got to take my groceries home.” He feels nervous, and just shy of overwhelmed, but mostly all he’s aware of is heavy relief.

They agree that he’ll meet Shmi at her house, which is further out from town than Qui-Gon’s, and he watches her go for a moment before walking home with his supplies.

A part of him expects that when he goes to Shmi’s house, she’ll have changed her mind, or the kids won’t want to go, or Ronan will be home already. But he tries his best not to worry, and instead goes upstairs to the three extra bedrooms and makes sure everything’s comfortable and clean, setting out extra blankets and making sure the rooms seem cozy. He puts away his groceries, stops outside to check on his chickens, and then leaves the Victors’ village and takes the dirt path towards Shmi’s neighborhood.

He used to live a few blocks down from her family, when he was a kid - like just about everyone else in the District, he took out tesserae as soon as he was old enough, snuck out into the woods to gather, although he hadn’t tried hunting like some of the others. His older brother had always been better at that. Qui-Gon knows just about everyone had expected him to get killed in the Quell, and frankly he’d thought he was going to die too. But, as they say, the odds have turned out in his favor - at least, as much as they can. He doesn’t really feel grateful, so often, that he won, but it means that now he can let Shmi stay with him.

Small blessings.

When he gets to Shmi’s house, which is small and probably drafty, with broken front steps but one scraggly snowball bush in the front yard, he can’t make himself knock on the door, for a moment. Then he shakes himself, tells himself he’s being ridiculous, and raps quietly a couple of times before stepping back a bit.

The door creaks and cracks partway open, enough for Qui-Gon to see Shmi looking out at him, and then it opens the rest of the way and Shmi sighs a little, nodding at him. “Qui-Gon,” she says, relief coloring her voice, “come in.”

Qui-Gon smiles and steps past her into the house, which is warmer than outside but not by much. The house, like the one he’d lived in as a boy, is made up of the living room and a kitchen and a short hallway with two rooms. Here in the living room, Ahsoka is sitting on the couch and staring at him almost suspiciously. There are a few bags on the table, and Qui can hear someone rummaging around down the hallway - probably Anakin. Qui takes a deep breath and smiles as reassuringly as he can at Shmi, asks her what he can help with, and tries not to feel regret for her. She didn’t ask for his pity, just his help.

~~~

When Shmi had spoken to her children, explaining that they were going to be getting all their things and leaving, going to stay with Qui-Gon for a while, until they can figure things out, Ahsoka had immediately gone to pack her favorite clothes and toys into a bag (though she hadn’t really understood, she’s still too young). Anakin, however, had given her a  _ look, _ and she’d known what he was going to say almost before he said it.

“You know I want us to get away from him, mom,” he’d said, “but I don’t think that staying with the  _ Victor _ is a good idea - can we really trust him to keep Ronan away?”

It’s a good question, and one Shmi’s been considering since she accepted Qui-Gon’s offer, but- Well, Qui-Gon had always cared for her, when they were younger, and she certainly believes he has the strength to stand up to Ronan if things get violent - as much as she’s worried about that getting him hurt.

“I think we can,” she’d told Anakin, quietly. “We were friends for a long time before he won his Games.”

Anakin wasn’t happy with that answer, but he’d accepted it (for the moment, at least) and gone to pack his things, and Shmi sighs, goes into the small kitchen and leans against the counter, rubbing at her forehead. It’s almost too much, right now.

She doesn’t really know how she’s going to do this. When Ronan comes back… 

But she can’t think about that right now.

There’s a knock on the door, after maybe twenty minutes, and Shmi knows it’s not Ronan, because he wouldn’t knock, but she still can’t help the nearly-paralyzing bolt of fear that stiffens her spine, because what if for some reason Ronan came home early - he would be so furious if he walked in to find her in the process of trying to move the children out, she doesn’t think even Anakin could protect her (and if she gets hurt badly enough now, the baby- She can’t think about that).

(Not that she wants Anakin to protect her, but he’s always been insistent about it, since he was old enough to.)

It takes her a moment to get up the strength to go to the door, and she only opens it a few inches at first - but as she does she sees Qui-Gon standing there, clearly concerned, and she takes a deep breath and opens the door the rest of the way, stepping out of the way so he can come inside. “Qui-Gon, come in,” she says, tries to stifle some of the relief she feels.

Ahsoka’s finished her packing, apparently, is sitting on the ratty couch clutching a torn stuffed dog to her chest and watching Qui-Gon with wary blue eyes, and Shmi walks over to her daughter and smiles reassuringly, puts a hand on her shoulder.

“What can I help with?” Qui-Gon asks, quietly, and Shmi sighs, rubs at her forehead with her free hand.

“Anakin’s finishing gathering the rest of our things,” she says, “but he’ll need help carrying them, and Ahsoka can’t carry much either.”

Qui-Gon tucks his hands in his pockets, smiling just a little at her. “Alright, of course, just tell me what to do.”

Shmi can’t help a relieved smile, and she sighs and directs the Victor to take some of Ahsoka’s bags, and she tosses her own bag over her shoulder and waits for Anakin to shuffle out into the living room with the rest of their stuff. Qui-Gon helps, and they manage to get everything in one trip.

Shmi leaves Ronan the money, or most of it. He’ll need it, and Qui-Gon can help until she and Anakin can support themselves, she’s sure. She wouldn’t put it on him, normally, but she thinks he’ll be alright with it, since he did offer them his house.

She doesn’t quite know what she’s going to do, now - people will talk about this. But she has to put her children’s safety first, and really, it’s been a long time since she cared so much about what other people said, when she’s known for years that people were spreading rumors about Ronan but no one ever approached her to help.

~~~

Qui-Gon feels unaccountably nervous when he holds open the door of his home for Shmi and her children to go inside - it feels as if it’s been so long since anybody besides him and Obi-Wan have been in the house, and a part of him suddenly wonders if it’s really so wise to have children staying with him, especially when he does still have to leave for the Games every summer. He doesn’t wonder long, though, because little Ahsoka, with eyes so wide they look like they might swallow her face, drops her stuff and charges straight for his couch. Scrambling into the cushions like she’s trying to bury herself in pillows, she grabs the blanket he keeps on the back of the couch and bundles herself up in it, till all her skinny limbs are covered up. Qui-Gon can’t help a short laugh.

Anakin, on the other hand, seems to be trying to look only at the floor and is taking Shmi’s things out of her arms. Qui-Gon understands. Somehow he suspects Anakin didn’t exactly  _ want _ to come here, but needs must, as they say. He bends down and picks up Ahsoka’s bag just as the little girl sits up straighter and grins at Shmi almost proudly. Shmi smiles back and walks over to run her hand through Ahsoka’s mess of curly red hair.

Qui-Gon coughs a little as if that would dislodge the lump in his throat. “I can show you all around the house, if you’d like. My room is down here, and I have rooms upstairs ready for you.” He turns around and locks his front door - it has two locks, neither of which it had had when he first moved in.

“That would be good,” Shmi says, glancing at him. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” Qui nods, and looks at Anakin, tells him how to find their rooms upstairs so they can take their things up if they’d like. “I’m going to go make dinner, personally, so you all can make yourselves comfortable. Let me know if you need anything.”

Shmi exhales something like a laugh. “I think Ahsoka already did that,” she says, and follows Anakin upstairs after taking Ahsoka’s things from Qui-Gon. Ahsoka, however, does not follow her mom and brother, and as Qui-Gon starts for the kitchen, she hops off the couch with the blanket still clutched around her too-thin shoulders. Qui-Gon almost doesn’t know what to do with it, but he shoots a little smile back at Ahsoka and lets her busy herself as he gets out potatoes and cheese and carrots and bread dough that’s been rising since he left earlier. It won’t turn out as well now as he’d hoped, but it will be good for dinner all the same. As he’s setting the oven to heat and scoring the bread, he turns slightly and catches Ahsoka trying to break a handful of cheese off the larger block of cheese on his counter. She stares at him, guiltily, eyes wide, and slowly pulls her hand back, despite having left large finger-shaped holes in the cheese, and then before Qui-Gon can say anything, she bolts out of the kitchen entirely.

Qui-Gon  _ almost _ laughs, but contains himself, finishes putting the bread in the oven, and then cuts a square off the cheese and heads out of the kitchen himself, trying to find Ahsoka again. It takes him a moment to find her, but the telltale corner of a blanket poking out from behind his armchair gives her away, and Qui-Gon very carefully pads over until he can see the rest of her - she’s covered her face with the blanket, and so Qui-Gon sits down cross-legged next to the chair and sighs a little. “Ahsoka?” he says, lightly, as if he doesn’t already know it’s her.

She tugs her legs even closer to her chest as she starts to cry, pulling the blanket away from her face with a quick motion. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it,” she says, earnestly.

Qui-Gon, although he feels awful, smiles as warmly as he can and holds out the piece of cheese he’d cut. “You seem as though you need a snack. You could have just asked, you know, I have plenty of this.”

Ahsoka sniffs, rubs her nose with one arm, and peers dubiously up at him, not reaching for the offered cheese. After a pause, she says, carefully, “I didn’t- do something bad?”

“No,” Qui-Gon tells her, shrugging. “Perhaps it was a bit sneaky of you but I certainly don’t mind. If you would like, after you’ve had some cheese you can have an apple, I have some.”

Ahsoka stares at him, eyes widening, and then snatches the cheese out of his hand quickly. Qui-Gon chuckles, gets to his feet, and goes back into the kitchen. After a moment, he hears Ahsoka following him, and once back in the kitchen he sets a plate on the counter for her with an apple and another slice of cheese before starting to cook his carrots and potatoes and more cheese with some herbs. Ahsoka stays in the kitchen munching on her apple while he makes dinner and takes the bread out of the oven, and Anakin and Shmi come in as he’s putting large helpings of everything onto four plates. He  _ will  _ have to be careful with his resources from now on, he supposes - his stipend from the Capitol is more than sufficient for only him, but may be a bit of a stretch for four. Luckily his garden and chickens keep him in a good position, and that ought to make it manageable.

Dinner is, for lack of a better word, a bit awkward - it’s nice, though, in the kitchen around his table, with everyone clearly enjoying their food (even Anakin who’s trying very hard not to seem interested) and Shmi helping him make some small conversation. Ahsoka seems alright again; Qui-Gon supposes proper food and quiet will do that for a person. After dinner, Qui-Gon takes everyone’s plates and quietly excuses himself to clean up the kitchen and do the dishes, leaving the family to talk or go to the rooms or whatever else they may like.

When he comes back, Anakin has disappeared, probably upstairs, and Shmi is ushering Ahsoka upstairs too - it is, Qui-Gon supposes, getting dark enough outside that she’ll be needing to go to sleep. He watches them go upstairs, then sits down on his couch, folds up the blanket that Ahsoka had been toting around all day, and picks up the book he’s been attempting to read. It’s a precious, well-kept possession, found years ago on his Victory Tour, stolen quietly from the city hall in Eleven, a neat little book about how to properly tend to all sorts of garden plants. It had been dusty at the time, but now it’s nicely worn from the years he’s spent trying to read it all the way through. He uses it like a handbook or he reads the bits he finds interesting - he owns several more complicated books now, about the history of the Capitol (the legal version, unfortunately) or little novels or records about District shipping and specialization, but nothing he likes quite so much as this little book.

Just as he’s getting interested in a little illustration on the proper way to stabilize a sapling fruit tree - he’s considered trying to grow some, but he can’t afford something so frivolous himself - he hears the stairs creak and Shmi crosses the living room to sit down in his armchair, her shoulders bowed slightly inward. She settles against the arm of the chair and tucks her feet up beneath her, and Qui-Gon sees much of the firmness go out of her posture and face until she just looks tired.

Qui closes his book, leaving his finger in it to mark his place, and smiles at Shmi. “I’ve been meaning to ask,” he says, although it feels a little odd breaking the quiet, “when is Ronan meant to be coming back from the logging camps?” He knows it’s not a comfortable question, but he does need to know what to expect. He certainly expects the man to go looking for his family when they aren’t at home, although Qui-Gon briefly entertains the nice idea that maybe he would never figure out they were at his house and would just give up. But that is, of course, wishful thinking.

“Two weeks,” Shmi tells him, which makes Qui-Gon sigh a little, relieved, and nod.

That’s some time. Not much, exactly, but enough that perhaps they’ll be able to get settled in before Ronan is back. “Alright,” he says, and opens his book again to resume his reading.

~~~

Shmi sits quietly in her chair for several minutes, alternating between watching the fire and Qui-Gon as he reads; the sound of the fire crackling and the pages turning is soothing, and she sighs, slowly lets herself relax. “Thank you, for this,” she says, quiet still.

Qui-Gon looks up from his book, smiling. “You’re very welcome,” he says, and she manages a smile in response, although she’s sure it just looks tired.

Before he can go back to his book, Shmi asks, “Why are you doing this? I know it’ll make things more difficult for you, especially after the baby is born.” And that’s something to think about, too - she doesn’t want the baby to not know what it’s like to have a father, but clearly Ronan isn’t an acceptable one. She doesn’t want the child to know about Ronan, she thinks, and so that leaves- Well. If they’re going to be staying here for some time, then…

For a long minute, Qui-Gon is quiet, looking at the fire - she can tell he’s thinking, trying to put an answer together. “It was important to me, Shmi,” he says, finally, looking back at her. “We used to be friends, you know, and it’s- been a long time, I think, since you’ve looked happy.”

“Things were simpler then,” Shmi agrees, soft, looking over at the fire herself. “I do wish that- Well. I don’t suppose I have to explain that to you of all people.”

“Yes, I understand.” Qui-Gon straightens, a little, setting his book off to one side and looking a little more closely at her. And of course he does- as a Victor he has almost as much reason to think about that then she does. More, really. 

She sighs, goes quiet, debating how she’s going to ask her next question - she doesn’t want to presume, or anything, but… “I have- a favor to ask you,” she says, after another minute.

He nods, reassuring and calm. “Alright, what is it?”

Shmi hesitates, sighing again and looking over at him again. “I don’t want the baby to- know about Ronan, but I don’t want them to grow up without a father,” she says, slowly, almost unwilling to put the question into words. It’s not exactly a simple thing to ask someone, especially when they’ve opened their home to you but haven’t told you how long you’re welcome.

“I’m sorry, that’s hard,” Qui-Gon says, and she huffs a little to herself, can’t help the barest trace of a smile, because of  _ course _ he doesn’t understand.

So she shakes her head, just a little, says, “I know you haven’t- We haven’t discussed if this is going to be a longer-term living situation or not, and I don’t mean to impose by asking, but… You could- Would you be willing to be the baby’s father, if we stay here?” There, she’s said it.

Qui-Gon blinks, eyes going wide, and Shmi almost wants to take back the question. “Of course you can stay as long as you all would like,” he starts, which is only answering part of the question, “I have more space and food than I need, here, and this is the warmest place you could be for the winter, in the District.” He pauses, goes quieter, then after a moment adds, “I… suppose if it’s important to you, Shmi, I wouldn’t be opposed.”

“I don’t want you to agree just because of me,” Shmi says, shaking her head a little. “I can raise them by myself - for all intents and purposes that’s how I raised Ahsoka - but I thought I’d ask. If only to give the baby a chance at growing up in a more… healthy family dynamic.”

“People will think you and I had an affair,” he says. “Is that something you’re alright with?”

“They’re going to talk anyway,” Shmi says, seriously. “I took my children and left my husband while he was away to go live with the Victor, I think the rumors are inevitable. Are  _ you _ alright with that?” After a pause, she adds, “I stopped caring about what the people say when I overheard them talking about Ronan hitting us and no one decided to try and do anything about it.”

Qui-Gon folds his hands together, settling back against the couch. “They already dislike me for killing forty-seven people, I really doubt this would be new. I- don’t really know a lot about children, Shmi.” He sounds almost unsure, tentative.

“You do,” she says, softly, “instinctively. I saw you with Ahsoka earlier.”

He shifts, looks down and rubs at the back of his neck. “Well. If you really think it’s a good idea, Shmi, I don’t mind.”

She lets out a breath and leans back in the chair, smiling at him. “Thank you,” she says. “I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t think it was a good idea, you know. I- You were a good friend, before the Games, and I do remember that.”

Qui-Gon smiles, nearly wistful. “You’re right. It was much simpler back then.”

Shmi hesitates, then gets up out of her chair with a little difficulty and crosses over to the couch, sits down on the edge of the cushion next to him. “You look like you need a hug,” she says, nearly teasing, and he laughs, dry, and grimaces. She puts a hand on his shoulder and tugs a little until he leans forward and lets her hug him, and it feels-

It feels  _ nice. _

Shmi closes her eyes and leans into the hug, finds herself relaxing, and she lets herself think that maybe things will be alright, now.

~~~

Over the next couple weeks, Qui-Gon settles into a new, unfamiliar routine with Shmi’s family. Anakin doesn’t seem to grow any more comfortable, which doesn’t surprise him, but it does concern him somewhat - he chooses to give the teenager his space and focus on what he  _ can  _ help with, which is good food and a clean, quiet house. After the first week, he convinces Ahsoka outside to meet his chickens, as she’s seemed to want to help with them. She helps him collect eggs and only drops one. She tries to chase one of his hens, once, until Qui-Gon catches her arm and points at the angry rooster who’s eyeing her from beside the fence around the coop. “I wouldn’t chase them, it makes them stressed,” Qui-Gon tells her, trying not to laugh. It really would go badly, he suspects, if she made his rooster mad, but that’s why he’s here.

Most mornings, he and Shmi end up companionably drinking tea in the kitchen while he gets things out for breakfast; it’s a nice new normal and Qui-Gon can’t help but think that it’s the most his house has really felt  _ safe _ since he’s lived here (although he does quietly warn Shmi that there  _ are _ always people listening, in his house, because you can’t leave a Victor quietly alone with their thoughts). And every night, once the others have gone to bed upstairs, Qui-Gon checks the locks on his doors and tells himself not to worry before he goes to sleep. The closer the days get to when Shmi has said to expect Ronan back in town, the more grateful Qui-Gon becomes for the few weapons he’s chosen to keep in his house for the last few years - he has not needed them, but he had felt like he did, after his Games, so there’s a hunting knife in a drawer in his room and another hidden away behind some of his books. He’s not, per se, proud that he still has them, but all the same it feels better that they’re available to him.

Except for Ahsoka, when it’s been a couple weeks and they’ve heard nothing yet, they all seem to be back on edge - Qui-Gon pretends not to notice, and pretends that he isn’t also worried. He and Shmi don’t really talk about it. He knows she’s scared, and he thinks she’s still concerned that this is a burden on him, but he decides it’s best not to address her and give her reason to believe he’s anxious too. Perhaps it will all resolve more quietly than he fears - his reputation, after all, is still something more dangerous than he’d prefer.

Their evening dinners are the most comfortable the four of them are able to be together, gathered around Qui’s bread and different soups and stews that Ahsoka has begun asking to help with. Tonight, Ahsoka had helped make a thick turnip, carrot, and potato soup. She had mostly peeled the vegetables, but she basks in all the compliments from her brother and mother after the meal, leaning back in her chair and grinning at Anakin, who was claiming he had never had better potatoes before. Qui-Gon has gotten up and is collecting everyone’s plates, smiling at Ahsoka encouragingly, when abruptly there’s a heavy thudding noise from the front room - it takes Qui-Gon a moment to realize it’s someone banging on the door, but when he does, he sets down the plates he’d been holding. Shmi’s gone completely still, and Anakin looks tense and as if he might leap out of his chair. Ahsoka looks between them, confused. “What’s that?” she asks.

Qui-Gon doesn’t answer. He hurries around the table, into the living room, and quietly retrieves his knife from the bookshelf, the hilt solid in his palm, although he keeps the weapon close to his side so it’ll be out of sight unless he needs it. He starts towards the door, then turns when he hears the family following him - he looks at Shmi, smiles just slightly and wills away a flinch when the door shakes with another series of heavy blows. “Should I get the door?” he asks, quietly.

Shmi swallows. “He’ll break it down if you don’t,” she says, softly, voice shaking, and while Qui-Gon doubts that someone would be  _ able _ to, he doesn’t want things to become more unpleasant than they already are. Because of course it must be Ronan, no one else would have a reason to be here.

Qui-Gon hesitates, then steps back away from the door long enough to put a hand on Shmi’s shoulder, gentle. “It’ll be fine,” he tells her. Then he looks at Ahsoka, who’s behind Anakin, and smiles at her. “Ahsoka, would you mind going and taking the dishes into the kitchen for me and we can clean up in a little bit?”

“I want to know who’s there,” Ahsoka says, stubbornly.

Qui-Gon leans forward a little, giving her a very serious look. “Ahsoka, I really would like your help with the dishes right now.”

She eyes him grouchily for a moment, then slumps a little and troops back into the dining room. Qui-Gon takes a quiet breath, and turns back to get the door.

There’s adrenaline spiking in his chest, which is almost unfamiliar, these days. He ignores it, unbolts the locks on his door and, with his foot behind the door so it can’t open very much further than he wants, opens it a few inches.

The banging stops, and the man at the front door takes a small step back as if he hadn’t expected the door to open at all. Qui-Gon hasn’t seen Ronan often, in the years since Shmi married him, but there hasn’t been much change over time in the red hair, broad jaw, and broader shoulders aside from harsher lines around his eyes. He’s flushed from anger or alcohol or perhaps both, and Qui-Gon breathes out slowly and raises his eyebrows, tightens his fingers around his knife.

“Can I help you?” he asks, coolly.

Ronan juts his chin forward, eyes narrowing, and takes a step back closer to the crack in the door so that Qui-Gon can almost smell his breath when he talks. He has, it seems, been drinking even if he is not currently drunk. “Is my wife in there?” he snarls.

Qui-Gon frowns. “Shmi?” He’d prefer to avoid admitting Shmi and the kids are here at all, if he can avoid it. He doesn’t feel the slightest prick of guilt for the lie.

“I know she’s here.” Ronan puts a hand out and shoves the door, hard enough it smacks Qui-Gon in the shoulder, but he doesn’t let it open further. “People saw you, Jinn, so don’t get smart with me.” He’s craning his head, trying to look past Qui-Gon’s shoulder, without apparent success.

Qui-Gon sighs and shakes his head, once, says, “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“No fucking way.” Ronan leans even closer, and Qui-Gon gets the distinct impression that the man is trying to threaten him. It’s uncomfortable, but more because Qui-Gon is all too aware of how easily he could press his knife to Ronan’s throat and simply ask him again to leave. But that seems like too much, so he refrains. “I came to take my family home, and I’m not leaving without them.”

Qui-Gon swallows back an angry edge to his voice and keeps himself calm. “You are. I don’t believe they want to see you.”

“What would you know about it? They’re  _ my  _ family.” The harsh claim is accompanied by another hard shove on the door. Qui wedges his foot more firmly against the bottom of the door and grits his teeth.

“I asked you to leave,” he says, steady and low. “This is my house, and you’re not welcome.”

Ronan is even more red-faced, anger distorting his expression so it’s almost unrecognizable (Qui-Gon remembers him from when they were children, too, and he wonders for a moment how they got here, like this), but he seems unsure of what to do. Qui-Gon knows he can keep Ronan out - could easily gut him if he tried to fight, in all honesty - and he suspects Ronan knows it too. So the man scoots back again, hands flexing at his sides, tries another tack that could almost be called diplomatic.

“How do you know she doesn’t want to see me?” he growls. “Have you asked her?”

Qui-Gon almost snorts. “I think that it should be obvious she doesn’t want to.”

Then, however, startling both him and Ronan, from inside the house, Ahsoka says “Daddy?” and Qui-Gon quickly twists around to look at her and Shmi, who’re both standing behind him. Ahsoka’s holding Shmi’s hand, frightened and uncertain, and Qui-Gon swallows. Shmi squeezes Ahsoka’s hand, lightly, and nudges her back away from the door. 

“Come on, sweetie,” she says softly, “let’s go to the kitchen.”

Qui-Gon starts to turn back towards Ronan, only to have the door wrenched so hard again that he has to give a couple inches because of his distraction, and without thinking he whips around and snaps his knife up, his eyes locking on Ronan’s face. Almost to his amusement, Ronan looks shocked into a sort of sobriety, enough that he pulls back from the door.

“You’re crazy,” he growls.

Qui-Gon doesn’t relax. “I asked you to leave,” he answers, quietly. “Please don’t make me ask again.” He doesn’t know, entirely, what he will do if Ronan doesn’t listen now, but he thinks he won’t  _ have _ to do anything - Ronan looks deeply uncomfortable, just shy of scared, and when Qui-Gon starts to lower his knife again, he takes another step back.

With a parting snarl of, “They’re  _ my family,”  _ he retreats, although he’s trying to look as though it was  _ his _ idea to leave all along. Qui-Gon pushes the door shut again, hard, relocks it, and exhales slowly, trying to let the tension ease out of his muscles.

~~~

Shmi leaves Ahsoka in the kitchen with Anakin, splashing halfheartedly at the dishes and looking back over her shoulder in the direction of the door. “It’s  _ daddy,” _ she says, and Shmi kisses her head.

“I know, Soka,” she says, softly. “Let Anakin help you with the dishes, okay? I’m going to go help Qui-Gon.”

Ahsoka grumbles a little bit, but she nods, and Shmi hurries back out into the living room in time to see Qui-Gon lowering his knife from where he’d obviously been brandishing it and pushing the door closed hard, clicking the locks back into place and letting out a shuddering breath.

“Hey,” she says, quiet, steps forward and gently takes the hand holding the knife, gently tugging it out of his hands. “It’s alright, Qui-Gon, he’s gone.”

Qui-Gon smiles, wry, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I think I ought to be the one saying that, Shmi.”

“Maybe,” she says. “But you seemed like you needed to hear it.” She steps away from him and goes to set the knife back where she’d seen him grab it from, pretends her hands aren’t still shaking.

“I’m sorry about all that,” he says, quietly, and she pushes the books back into order, sighs.

“We knew it was going to happen eventually,” she says with a tired sigh, “but I’m- concerned.”

He nods. “I know. I don’t think he’ll come back, though.”

“I know,” Shmi says. “That’s not exactly what I’m worried about.” She’s concerned about what he’ll say, what he’ll do, now that he knows where she and the children are. And if he runs into Ahsoka on her way home from school… Well. Shmi can’t protect them all the time - she’ll have to make sure Anakin stays with Ahsoka when they’re outside the house.

“What are you worried about, then?” Qui-Gon asks, walking back towards the kitchen, and Shmi shakes her head.

“Nothing you can do anything about,” she sighs. “You’ve already done enough, just by chasing him off.”

Qui-Gon gives her a look, frowning and thoughtful, but she just holds his eyes, and finally he shakes his head a little and says, “Alright, Shmi.”

They go back into the kitchen and help finish up the dishes, and Shmi finds herself wondering how things are going to be  _ okay. _ They’d all been settling in alright, but now that Ronan is back in town, she’s not sure anyone’s going to be  _ relaxed _ for a long time. And with the baby so close to coming… 

She doesn’t want to be more of a strain on Qui-Gon than this entire situation already is, but Shmi also doesn’t think she wants to go out by herself anymore.

It doesn’t really feel safe.

Ronan doesn’t come back, but he does spread things around town, about how his wife ran off and took the kids and shacked up with a Victor, about how she thinks she’s too  _ good _ for him, an honest man who makes an honest living even if it’s not much and works hard to support his kids and wife. Shmi’s used to the rumors flying around about them, about her, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less. She shields the children from it as much as she can, makes sure Ahsoka is never out by herself, and she always takes Anakin with her when she goes to collect her laundry and her sewing, or Qui-Gon if Anakin isn’t around. That doesn’t much help her image, but people still let her work for them, so…

It’s about a month after all that that the baby comes.

Qui-Gon brings Sniper to the house and pays for everything, even some extra medicine that Sniper gets in from the Capitol on rare occasions, because it’s the hardest birth yet and by the end of it she’s almost too exhausted to hold her little girl in her arms - she manages, some, lets Anakin and Sniper prop her up on pillows, gives Qui-Gon (who’s sitting in an armchair by the bed) a tired smile.

“I think I’ll name her Rey,” she says. “What do you think?”

Qui-Gon smiles at her. “That’s a lovely name,” he says, and she closes her eyes and leans back into the pillows, cuddling little Rey closer to her. 

“Thank you,” she says. “Anakin, go check on Ahsoka, please?”

She hears the door open and close, and she lets out a tired sigh, is quiet for a moment while Sniper checks her vital signs and Rey’s, and then the doctor says he’s going to give them a few moments and quietly steps out of the room.

Shmi opens her eyes again, with some effort. “You should hold her,” she says to Qui-Gon. “Since she is, for all intents and purposes, yours.”

She can’t help smiling more, because at the statement, a brief look of pure anxiety crosses his face before he settles himself, clears his throat and says, “Alright, certainly.” He comes over and very carefully takes Rey from her, and it’s clear he doesn’t entirely know what he’s doing, but she thinks there’s something  _ right _ about the image anyway.

“Support her head,” she says, gently, adjusts herself a little so she can see better. “Her neck muscles are too weak, so she won’t be able to hold her own head up for a while.”

Qui-Gon adjusts his hold, careful, looking down at the little baby in his arms like she’s the most incredible thing he’s ever seen. “She’s  _ tiny,” _ he breathes, and Shmi smiles wider.

“Babies usually are,” she says, huffing in amusement, though that’s eclipsed by a yawn - she’s  _ exhausted. _ She should be in much more pain than she is, but Qui-Gon had told Sniper to give her good painkillers, and she’d been hurting too much to ask him just how much money that’d be. Now she’s too tired, though she’ll have to bring it up eventually.

Later. After she’s rested some.

~~~

Qui-Gon doesn’t realize until too late that Shmi has at last gotten to sleep and left him carefully cradling her tiny baby girl to his chest. Although he knows he’d agreed to act as though he was Rey’s father, and although he’d known that when the baby was born he’d have to help take care of her, it feels entirely different holding her. She’s blinking sleepily at him, and Qui-Gon shifts a little in his chair and leans back, trying to get more comfortable. He doesn’t understand why Shmi asked him to do this, it’s so much trust - but then, he supposes he’s a better alternative to Rey knowing about her real father. In any case, Qui-Gon sighs and smiles at Rey. “I suppose you’re stuck with me,” he murmurs, finding himself almost amused at the whole situation. “We’ll just have to do our best, won’t we?”

Rey, of course, doesn’t answer him, just looks rather solemnly up at him and kicks one foot a little. Qui-Gon chuckles and rocks her a bit. He’s never held a baby before, and he can’t help but feel anxious. She’s so little, and he doesn’t want to mess this up, not when Shmi trusts him to hold her and help take care of her.

Qui-Gon doesn’t know if he’s really qualified to act as a father, but he does promise himself, while Shmi sleeps, that he’s going to do everything he can to protect Rey, so she’ll grow up happier than her siblings have.

While Shmi rests for the next day or so, Qui-Gon spends most of the time he doesn’t spend cooking in her room, just reading and sometimes holding Rey. Ahsoka is constantly running in to sit on his chair and get comfortable and hold out her arms for her little sister - Anakin’s less excitable, but still spends a lot of time walking around with Rey and talking to her. Qui-Gon thinks the family must feel as though Rey’s part of a good fresh start, and he’s just glad he can help.

Shmi’s up and about again, carefully, after the first few days - Qui-Gon can tell that she’s still tired, but she seems happy, and she almost always carries Rey with her. After they had moved in, Anakin had built a rough cradle to replace the one they’d had to leave behind in their old house, and during most of the day the cradle sits in the living room by Shmi’s armchair so that when she sits and reads (she’s working her way through Qui-Gon’s books), she can rock Rey and have her close.

The only unfortunate part of all of this is that none of them are sleeping much at all - Rey inevitably wakes up every night crying for Shmi, and although sometimes Qui-Gon ventures into Shmi’s room to take Rey into the living room and manages to get her back to sleep, more often than not it’s Shmi who manages to coax her to sleep instead. Still, everything is… Well, Qui-Gon has never quite felt so much a part of a family before, even though he knows Anakin doesn’t totally trust him still, because even as a child his parents had dealt with the possibility of losing a child with careful pragmatism and detachment, and he’d never been much like his family anyway. This just feels like he really has a  _ home, _ like people need him and trust him, and it’s nice.

When Rey is two months old, word comes back from the logging camps that there had been a slip-up loading logs into a truck for transporting and three people had died. Among them was Ronan. The Peacekeeper who comes to tell them asks what Shmi wants to do as far as arrangements are concerned, whether she wants the body, and Shmi tells them to ask Ronan’s other family but otherwise to leave her out of it. The Peacekeeper doesn’t care, but the town goes back to talking - they’ve been talking about Rey and they’ve been talking about their living situation and now they question how Shmi could behave this way, but Shmi and Qui and her family stay comfortably at home and try not to listen to everyone’s speculation.

Overtime, Qui-Gon gets used to helping Shmi with Rey, until it stops feeling so much like he’s pretending to be something he’s not - this  _ is _ his family, and Rey is, he thinks, the closest thing he’ll ever have to a daughter of his own. He doesn’t admit to anyone that some nights, when he’s holding her after supper, he tries (feeling embarrassed) to convince her to say “dada,” and he can’t decide whether he’s more mortified or thrilled when it actually  _ works _ and that’s Rey’s first word. Shmi pretends to be offended, but she doesn’t really seem upset at all.

What  _ really  _ clinches it is when all of a sudden, after that, Ahsoka starts calling him “dad” sometimes, and he doesn’t even know what to think except that he doesn’t deserve this at all and it doesn’t seem to matter. They all seem happier again, now, they seem comfortable with him, it’s all perfect, and that’s when it begins to become a problem.

Qui-Gon had long ago left behind his childhood crush on Shmi Skywalker, of course - with the Games too much had changed, and they had grown up and she’d gotten married. But the things that he’d always admired so much about Shmi have not changed at all, he thinks - she’s still beautiful and thoughtful and very kind, and it’s still so easy to talk to her. That first summer, when he leaves and goes to Capitol for the Games and comes back, he intends to give the family space until he feels more himself again, less guilty and tired, but Shmi doesn’t let him. She’s awake when he gets back late into Seven, after both of their tributes die within the first three days, and there’s bread and tea waiting in the kitchen, both still warm enough to help his hands stop shaking. She doesn’t really talk, then, she just quietly busies herself in the kitchen with her own cup of tea, and Qui-Gon feels something very fond and grateful warming his chest that feels unfamiliar. When she leaves the kitchen to go to her room, she pauses and puts her hand on his shoulder, firm, gives him a small smile, and it feels like such a relief that Qui-Gon wants to cry. He thinks, then, that it’s entirely  _ too _ easy to be with Shmi Skywalker, and he can’t afford to let her down or take advantage of their situation.

Still, comfortable in their little family, at home like he’s never been before, Qui-Gon finds he also can’t help but go back to watching Shmi and telling himself it’s foolish (and selfish) to wish that they could have just a little more.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> leave us a comment if you enjoy!

Shmi thinks she’ll never be able to understand how Qui-Gon is able to go to the Capitol, year after year, and watch children die, help them on their path there, and not break. Every year he comes home exhausted and a little less himself, and it takes longer for her to help him put himself back together again.

Sometimes he has to leave at other points during the year, usually to film some interview, and while he’s mostly alright when he gets home, then, Shmi can still see the tension in his eyes. And most tellingly, of course, is he spends nearly as much time baking bread after those trips as he does after the Games.

She tries to ground him as best as she can, when he gets back, makes sure Rey especially has something to occupy her away from Qui-Gon, if he’s back while she’s still awake - he likes to be quiet and keep his hands busy in the kitchen, and he likes it, she thinks, when she’s there too, not pressuring him to talk, just there. So they develop a routine, over the years, for when he comes home: she has tea ready for him, and he makes some bread, and while it’s baking they sit on the couch together and read his books, and sometimes she lays her head on his shoulder and lets him idly braid her hair, because she knows it soothes him. And, if she’s honest, it’s comforting for  _ her _ as well.

It’s not often anyone can convince her to let her hair down, in the most literal sense, but she knows it helps Qui-Gon, and perhaps she’s alright with being a little vulnerable with him. He’s seen her at some of her worst times, after all, and he’s been here for her through so much- he’d been there, she thinks, even when she hadn’t known he was. If she’d remembered their friendship before the day in the market, he would’ve been there to help then, she thinks, no matter what it cost him.

It’s just who he is.

Rey is still very young when Qui-Gon tells Shmi that there’s someone stealing food from him. He thinks they’re a child, he explains, and he wants to help whoever they are, but she’s better with children than he is, so would she help him?

Of course she agrees. How could she tell him no when he looks at her like that, so sincere she almost can’t hold his gaze, because it- Well, it’s been a long time since anyone besides her children has looked at her like that.

The boy, as it turns out, is named Caleb, and he’s about a year younger than Ahsoka, give or take, and he’s an orphan. He explains, in quiet sentences she can barely hear, that he’d been living with his aunt, but she’d gotten sick and died - and that before she’d died she’d told him to hide from the Peacekeepers and stay away from the Home, stay out of the Reaping. Shmi looks at him and feels her heart melting, and she turns and  _ looks _ at Qui-Gon, setting a comforting hand on Caleb’s shoulder.

“You can come here any time you like,” she says, warm. “There’ll always be food for you, and during the winter it’s safer to be inside.”

Qui-Gon agrees, emphatically, and it doesn’t take long for Caleb to be comfortable enough to start bringing friends, especially during the winter when storms are imminent.

Shmi stocks up on warm fabric and sews them blankets and coats.

When Ahsoka’s fourteen, Anakin shows up at their door with her in his arms, covered in blood. She’d been whipped, he explains, shaky, clearly holding back tears, he doesn’t know what happened because he’d gotten there late, she’s not awake and they need to get her to Sniper and-

Shmi doesn’t remember much, after that.

She remembers calling for Qui-Gon, remembers him gently taking Ahsoka from Anakin and telling Anakin to  _ wash off the blood, go get Obi-Wan, he’ll watch Rey, then you can come to Sniper’s with us. _

She remembers when Ahsoka wakes up, crying and grabbing tight onto Qui-Gon’s shoulders, saying something about the Peacekeepers not letting her go.

She remembers pacing in the waiting room while Sniper knocks Ahsoka out again with pain meds; Shmi doesn’t even attempt to protest Qui-Gon spending extra money to get morphling for her. Anything, as long as her little girl is okay.

It’s a long few hours until Sniper comes and tells her that everything will be okay, Ahsoka just needs rest, and no activity for a couple weeks, and her bandages changed and this salve applied regularly. It’s only then that Shmi notices that at some point, Qui-Gon had put a hand on her shoulder, to steady her, probably. She looks up at him, grateful, and when Sniper leaves again to go finish getting Ahsoka ready to be taken home, Shmi turns and hugs Qui-Gon tight, leaves her face pressed against his chest until she feels like she can breathe without shaking.

Ahsoka’s okay, though.

It’s a couple of weeks before she’s able to walk around, then, and she refuses to go outside without someone with her - she skitters away from Peacekeepers for months after and won’t ever  _ quite _ explain why she decided to break a Peacekeeper’s nose.

Shmi understands well enough, though.

Rey grows up so  _ happy _ it takes Shmi’s breath away, sometimes; she chases Qui-Gon’s chickens and sits on his shoulders while he cooks and paints the walls of her room in sloppy yellow, and Shmi feels like she has to savor every moment of it, in case something goes wrong. Things don’t, though, just stay good, for the longest time - Caleb brings more children to see them and Ahsoka and Rey make friends, Anakin gets a girlfriend (which is simply ridiculous, how can he be that old already), and Shmi sits with Qui-Gon in front of the fireplace late into the nights, sewing while he reads or reading too, sometimes, and it’s-

It’s just so  _ easy. _

Sometimes, if she thinks about it too much, it nearly scares her, how easy it is to lean her head on Qui-Gon’s shoulder and knit another sweater for Cassian, because he’s grown and he’ll need a new one this winter, and occasionally nudge the man next to her so he’ll point his book more in her direction, because she’s seen something she’s curious about - a diagram, usually, or a recipe, or penned notes in the margins.

She thinks about Ronan sometimes and thinks it should scare her more. 

But it doesn’t.

And Shmi’s old enough, by now, that she’s not going to fight this- whatever it is, because things are good enough she doesn’t want them to change.

~~~

Over the past couple years, when Ahsoka became old enough for the Reaping, Obi-Wan, who has been teaching Anakin to fight for some time now, offers to begin to teach Ahsoka, too. In case their names are called, despite the fact that they don’t take out tesserae. It makes Qui-Gon aware that perhaps there is one way in which it will not help them to stay with him - it draws attention to the children, and perhaps the Capitol would find it entertaining to make him mentor the people who live with him. But Anakin safely grows too old for the Reaping, and for the first few years Ahsoka grows stronger and more capable with Obi-Wan’s help, but her name is not called.

Qui-Gon never tells Shmi he’s afraid of the Capitol manipulating things and deciding to drag Shmi’s daughter into the Games - most people believe that the Capitol wouldn’t manipulate the selection of the tributes, that it’s always random, and Qui-Gon now understands that if the Capitol does not control something, it’s only because they don’t feel they want or need to, not because they  _ won’t. _

Qui-Gon still finds that he can’t totally ignore his- well, his feelings for Shmi. He wouldn’t disturb the comfortable normalcy they have for the world, even if sometimes it’s almost too much. They sit together often, and Shmi leans her head on his shoulder or asks him about the books he’s reading or, sometimes, lets him braid her hair - the first time he does it quite by accident, but she doesn’t seem to notice it anymore than he’d noticed himself doing it to begin with, so he decides not to worry about it. More often, he sits and helps Rey braid her hair, because Rey always wants to braid her own hair the way Shmi’s done  _ hers _ for the day, and Qui-Gon is no great stylist but when Rey plops herself in front of him with her wooden comb and sundry hair clips, he can’t exactly say  _ no. _

He does her hair for the Reaping when Ahsoka is sixteen years old. Rey is not old enough to have her name in the Reaping and just beginning to understand what the Reaping really is, but when she sees that Ahsoka is doing her hair up nicely, she wants her hair up too, and Qui-Gon doesn’t want her to be afraid so he sits with her and brushes her hair until it’s almost time for them to leave.

As always, when they reach the city center, he leaves his family with a smile at Shmi and a touch on Ahsoka’s shoulder, and climbs onto the stage with Obi-Wan to sit down in a chair that’s too small for him. He sits through the video about the past District uprising and the advent of the Hunger Games, long practiced in letting his mind wander without a sign of it showing on his face. It has always been hard for him to sit through the Reaping, because it reminds him too much both of his own and of all the times in the past he’s watched kids walk up on the stage, knowing it’s unlikely that they’ll survive. Certainly, Seven’s children are not so underprepared as the people in other districts, but try as he might Qui-Gon hasn’t brought home a tribute since Obi-Wan.

As always, Satine Kryze (who has always been unusual for a Capitol woman, but who performs the Reaping with a chilly cheerfulness) walks to the glass ball of girls’ names, sifts her green-painted nails through the paper slips before drawing one out in a grand flourish. She opens it, and Qui-Gon knows her well enough to see she hesitates.

“Ahsoka Skywalker,” she reads.

For what feels like a very long time, Qui-Gon can’t make himself understand what’s happening, although he registers that Ahsoka has gotten up and started towards the stage. Obi puts a hand on his arm and Qui-Gon isn’t sure why.

He’s snapped back to icy clarity when Rey starts  _ shouting, _ and goes running after Ahsoka and grabs her leg, and he’s half pushed himself out of his chair before Obi catches him and stops him. It’s Anakin who gets Rey away from Ahsoka and goes back to stand with Shmi, and Qui-Gon wishes he could go to them but instead he gets up with Obi-Wan, and although he should just shake Ahsoka’s hand, he puts his hand on her shoulder as reassuringly as he can before he sits down again.

He finds Shmi in the crowd and tries to meet her eyes and hardly pays attention to what happens next, although he needs to shake the hand of the boy tribute - Lux Bonteri, he remembers, is a classmate of Ahsoka’s. Later, while Lux and Ahsoka say their goodbyes to their families, Qui-Gon waits for a chance to speak to Shmi, knowing that Obi is concerned about him but not wanting to discuss it.

Before the visitation time has ended, Shmi comes out of the Justice Building and Qui-Gon walks up to her, although he feels almost afraid to, and so keeps his hands in his pockets. “Shmi,” he says, softly, feeling rather hollow, as if the world is dropping away. “I’m sorry. But I promise I’ll bring her home, alright?” He knows it’s a terrible promise to make, and maybe not one he can keep, but it’s as much a promise to himself - he can’t and  _ won’t _ lose Ahsoka to the Games, and he can’t come home without her.

Shmi comes over to him and hugs him, her arms tight around his chest. “I know,” she says, shakily. “I know you will.”

Qui-Gon hugs her back, swallowing and overwhelmed. “She’s strong,” he reminds her, “and I can get her the sponsors. She’ll be fine.” He has to believe it.

~~~

“I know,” Shmi says again, closing her eyes and fighting back tears. She has to be strong for Anakin and Rey, and she’s never been one to cry, but- This is so much. “Qui-Gon, I need you to promise me something.” It’s a dangerous thing to ask, but if the worst happens…

“Okay,” he says, low and quiet, and Shmi swallows, pulls back just enough to look up at him.

“If the worst happens,” she says, “and- If Ahsoka dies, I need you to promise that- you won’t blame yourself. That you’ll still come home yourself. I can’t lose both of you, not at once.” She shakes her head a little, tightens her arms around him.

She’s always known her children weren’t safe, and she’s always had to consider the fact that she might lose them. And it hurts, it hurts so much, but-

Qui-Gon shakes his head. “You’re not gonna lose either of us, it’ll be fine.” He sounds like he’s trying to convince himself of that just as much as he is her.

Shmi looks at him, for a moment, because it’s been a few months since she first identified the curious warmth in her chest that seemed to appear every time he smiled (and decided that acting on it had the chance to disrupt things too much, when the most important thing was to have a stable, safe home for her children). And maybe this isn’t the time, but she thinks she needs him to  _ understand _ why she’s asking him for this promise, this reassurance.

So she goes up on her toes, slipping one hand to curl around the back of his neck, and brushes a feather-light kiss across his lips, pulls away and whispers, “Promise me?”

Qui-Gon is staring at her, utterly confused, and she’d laugh if it weren’t for the gravity of the situation. “I- Alright, Shmi,” he manages, after a moment, “I promise.”

“Thank you,” she says, takes a deep breath and steps back. “The hour’s almost up, I- need to go get Rey and Anakin.” She swallows. “Good luck, Qui-Gon.”

She starts to walk away, but as she does, she hears him say, “I’ll take care of her, Shmi.”

She looks over her shoulder and smiles at him. “I know you will.”

He will. And Ahsoka will take care of herself, she’s been prepared for this - but Shmi knows just as well as most anyone who survives past the age of thirty that being prepared for the horrors people can inflict isn’t the same as actually experiencing them. But she will send her daughter off with faith and trust, because there’s nothing else she can give.

The next three days are some of the worst Shmi’s ever been through.

Rey is constantly upset, only cheering up when Shmi lets her feed the chickens all on her own and when Shmi lets her watch some of the opening ceremonies and she sees Qui-Gon and Ahsoka onscreen. “It’s daddy!” she says, excited, and, “Mom, mom, look at Soka’s  _ hair, _ can I have my hair like that?”

“Of course, sweetheart,” Shmi tells her, and together they pause the feed and zoom it in, and Rey brings all her hair things and sits on the floor, and Shmi braids her hair up and tries not to think too much.

Rey doesn’t know much about the Games yet - she’s only six, she’s so  _ young, _ and all Shmi’s ever been willing to tell her is that every year, two people have to go to the Capitol, and they don’t always come back. Usually don’t come back. And Shmi doesn’t want to let her youngest daughter watch the  _ Games, _ but how is she going to keep her away this year?

She might not have a choice, she admits to herself. 

And she doesn’t, not totally, but she’s able to hide some of the worse scenes from Rey’s eyes, and she and Anakin only discuss the more serious things in low voices after Rey’s been put to bed and they’re sure she’s asleep. They talk about the young man Ahsoka’s allied herself with, the Career, and how both of them are sure this alliance is going to go south somehow, how Ahsoka’s doing well but that could change so easily.

And later on, they talk about how Shmi doesn’t think Ahsoka will be able to break the alliance first. How, unless someone else kills Rex Fett, they aren’t so sure Ahsoka will be coming home.

When there’s nine tributes left, a Capitol attendant shows up at the house, saying that the whole family gets to go to the Capitol for the interviews, isn’t it so fun? 

Shmi thinks Anakin only narrowly stops himself from punching the man.

The train is incredibly beautiful, and it makes Shmi sick. Rey loves it, though, opens one of the windows and half-hangs out of it, shrieking her laughter into the wind as her hair whips into her face. Shmi wishes she could remember what that kind of pure  _ freedom _ feels like; it feels like she’s always been old enough that the weight of the Capitol laid heavily on her shoulders, just like everyone else.

The only good thing about this trip, Shmi thinks, is that she’ll get to see Qui-Gon.

~~~

The Games are always exhausting for Qui-Gon, even at the best of times, but this year everything feels as if it drains him twice as quickly - out of necessity, there are many things he does for the Games on autopilot, parts of his strategy that he leaves to the stylists and Obi-Wan and chooses not to interfere with. With Ahsoka here, he becomes hyperaware of the process of the Games all over again, of the limited three days he has to get her ready before he can only try to get her sponsors. He tries as best as he can to give equal time and focus to the other tribute, Lux Bonteri, but they all know that his heart isn’t in it. Still, Qui-Gon reassures Lux as best he can, even though nothing he says really seems to help.

The Capitol has a field day with the fact that Ahsoka and her family have been living with him, and Caesar (erroneously, but he doesn’t care) calls Qui-Gon her stepfather, and Qui-Gon grits his teeth and plays that card for all it’s worth in an effort to get sponsors. Sympathy works just fine for getting people to give him money, and then when they see that Ahsoka can win, they’ll get more.

Everything seems to be going as well as it can - Ahsoka’s scoring well, making an impression, and Qui-Gon and Obi already have people asking them about sponsoring her, but on the morning that all the children disappear from the Training Center for the Games, Qui-Gon can’t touch any of their breakfast and is in the control center for the Games as soon as he’s allowed - each team has a control room with multiple screens and couches and datascreens - the screens are to help them analyze the Games, the crowd response, the remaining Tributes, the couches are to allow them to mentor in comfort and entertain the odd high class sponsor. Qui-Gon sinks into one of the couches, leans forward on his knees, and watches the screens closely as the countdown to the Games begins.

It’s horrible.

Ahsoka almost dies in the bloodbath, in the first two nights with her new Career ally, in a forest fire, and Qui-Gon can only send medicine and otherwise sit and watch and try his best to stay calm. He doesn’t leave the control room, even though he knows he ought to - it’s better to stay, and keep watch, at least to be closer to things so that if he happens to sleep he doesn’t miss something life or death. Obi-Wan seems worried about him, but Qui-Gon quietly tells him that he  _ won’t be leaving, alright? _ and Obi-Wan knows enough to let it go.

Qui-Gon is beginning to be afraid that Ahsoka won’t end her alliance with Rex before it’s too late - if they would split up, they might avoid having to fight each other, but as it is… Qui-Gon knows Ahsoka well, and he doesn’t think she could make herself kill Rex now. Part of him wishes she  _ could, _ but he knows at the same time that that would change her, wouldn’t be like her at all, and that scares him. He knows that all of the kids in the Games are innocent, that he should never forget that, but at the same time… He can’t keep from hoping that someone will kill Rex before it’s down to him and Qui-Gon’s little girl. Until then, though, their strategy embraces Rex - the Capitol has been talking, about how the Peacekeeper boy from Two and the wild girl from Seven must be in love, and Qui-Gon has heard that Two’s mentors have been turning away sponsors for Rex. So they begin to take Rex’s sponsors as well as Ahsoka’s, encourage the story that the two of them are star-crossed lovers, even if it almost turns Qui-Gon’s stomach.

When Ahsoka is one of nine tributes left, Qui-Gon realizes they’ll bring her family here to the Capitol - the idea of any of them, but Rey in particular, in the Capitol, makes Qui feel sick, but it’s his  _ family,  _ and he wants to see them because he feels entirely overwhelmed. Ahsoka has gotten so far, but he doesn’t know what will happen  _ now _ if he can’t-

Well.

They change the rules. All at once, before Shmi and the others can come, say that a male and female tribute can both win, now, and Qui-Gon is so relieved for a long time that he makes himself believe it. If Rex and Ahsoka can  _ both _ win, the two of them together can certainly deal with the remaining tributes and make it home safe. Despite the fact that Qui-Gon doesn’t really trust the fancy new rule change and the Capitol’s excitement, he lets himself be relieved. For a while, at least. It’s easier that way.

The day that the interviews with tributes’ families are scheduled, Qui-Gon meets with Lando to review the outfits he’s designed for the family - for once, he feels alright leaving things in Obi-Wan’s hands, because he needs to see Shmi and Rey and Anakin at least for a while. He makes his way to the studio and meets Lando at the door, makes enough small talk that he can rush them backstage where, at last, his family is being ushered around by stagehands trying to get them camera-ready. There’s a young man there, too, who looks remarkably like Rex and who Qui-Gon remembers, after a moment, as the brother that Rex volunteered for. (That makes him wonder whether Rex really would be- would have been unable to kill Ahsoka, too. Qui-Gon is glad he doesn’t have to worry about that now.) Qui-Gon ignores him and hurries over to Shmi, who is holding Rey’s hand.

“Shmi,” Qui-Gon says, quickly, pushing his shoulders back and trying to smile so that he seems more relaxed, so they know he’s happy to see them. “Hello, everyone.”

Rey squeals, tugs her hand out of Shmi’s, and charges past several stagehands to jump at him, and he barely catches her and gets an armful of blue tulle as Rey flings her arms around his neck. “Daddy!” she says, happily, and Qui-Gon tries valiantly not to mess up either her dress or her hair. “Look at my outfit, I’m a princess!”

“Yes,” Qui says, smiling and looking past her at Shmi, who’s shaking her head fondly at Rey’s antics and who comes over to hug him and Rey at the same time. It feels wonderful.

He carefully sets Rey down, smooths out her little dress, which is sparkly and bright blue - Lando has clearly tried to make her look like a fairy, a nice little present to make the interview seem fun instead of daunting. Then he steps over to hug just Shmi, tightly, and nods at Anakin, who looks as if he’s hardly slept at all. “You all are a sight for sore eyes,” he says, lightly, chuckling a bit. “You heard about the rule change, I trust.”

“Yes, it’s wonderful,” Shmi says, sounding sincere, but Qui-Gon sees his own distrust in her eyes. She knows better, too, by now. Nothing’s ever this easy.

“Well.” Qui-Gon gestures at the stagehands and Rex’s brother, standing awkwardly by himself, and the stage door. “I suspect it’s almost your moment to shine, we can talk more afterwards.” He bends down, squeezes Rey’s shoulder. “Have fun out there, Rey, and try not to laugh at Mr. Flickerman’s makeup.”

Rey’s face lights up with amusement, and Qui-Gon smiles and nudges her to follow the impatiently beckoning stagehands before giving Shmi a softer smile and stepping away to watch the interviews on a small backstage screen.

~~~

The interviews mostly go well - there’s a brief hiccup, at one point, when Rey decides to speak a little too much of her mind, but Shmi’s able to gently hush her and spin it just enough that the stage audience laughs and  _ aww _ ’s and no one makes any note of it, or so she’s fairly sure. Partway through, however, Caesar has one of the screens change to showing the live feed of the Games that Shmi’s so used to seeing; it shows the cave that Rex and Ahsoka have been hiding in, the two of them asleep sitting up and leaning into each other. Shmi manages a smile, sees Anakin doing the same (if with less tact than she is), wonders almost how they got to this point.

(There’s no way Ahsoka’s going to be able to fight Rex now. Hopefully she won’t have to - the rule change, after all - but Shmi’s lived in Panem long enough she doesn’t really trust things like this, that make their pain easier to bear.)

Anakin is too-tense, the rest of the interview, as they’re forced to banter back and forth with Cody Fett about if the two really  _ are _ in love, and Ahsoka’s  _ sixteen, _ she’s too young for all this, how is Shmi supposed to just let the Capitol swallow her daughter up like this, because there’s going to be no escape for the rest of her life.

After the interviews are over, they’re taken back to the Training Center, to the floor that’s apparently for District Seven’s exclusive use. There’s a main living area and that’s where they go, Anakin carrying a half-asleep Rey in his arms, and he drops to sit down in one of the chairs while Shmi goes over towards the couch.

She stops, though, because Qui-Gon isn’t following her.

“You’re staying, aren’t you?” she asks, gently, crossing back over to him and taking one of his hands in hers.

“I think I should go back,” he says, “it would be good for Obi to get a break to see Anakin, and I feel like I’ve been gone too long anyway.” He shrugs, and she can tell he’s apologetic, but…

“Qui-Gon, you haven’t been sleeping, I can tell,” she says. “Obi-Wan can come see us off tomorrow when we take the train home, and then he can get some rest. When was the last time you really slept?” She can tell it’s been a while - maybe he’s taken some catnaps here and there, but she  _ knows _ him, knows what he looks like when he’s not slept - or at the least rested.

Qui-Gon hesitates, then says, “I- Shmi, you don’t have to worry about me, I’m fine.”

“Qui-Gon Jinn,” she scolds, light and warm, “you don’t get to tell me whether I should or shouldn’t worry about you.” She smiles, softens more, says, “I’m sure it’d be easy enough to ask Obi-Wan what he thinks. If he asks you to relieve him, I’ll let you go - otherwise, you’re staying here.” She lightly tugs on his shirt for emphasis.

“Shmi…” Qui-Gon looks at her, long-sufferingly, although he’s more fond than anything else, and shakes his head. “Fine, alright.”

“Good man,” she says with a warm smile. “Would you like to put Rey to bed, since she’s already mostly asleep?”

Qui-Gon nods, walks over to Anakin, who stands up from his chair and hands the sleepy girl over. “Okay. C’mere, my little troublemaker,” and he walks out of the living area towards one of the bedrooms.

Shmi looks over at Anakin, says, “Are you going to bed too, Ani?”

Anakin yawns, says, “Yeah, probably. I’m gonna get up early and see if they’ll let me in to see Obi-Wan. Don’t let Qui-Gon stay up all night.” With that, he gives her a quick hug and heads off, and Shmi sighs, settles into the couch and closes her eyes for a moment.

When she opens them, Qui-Gon is standing next to the couch, watching her, something soft and tender on his face, and she smiles up at him, pats the cushion next to her. He sits, as she figured he would, and she scoots over and leans her head against his chest, lets him drop his arm around her shoulders. It feels so much  _ better, _ makes it easier to forget, for just a little while, about the danger Ahsoka’s in.

“I’m so tired, Qui,” she whispers, means of  _ everything, _ the Games and the constant fear, though of course she can’t say that.

Qui-Gon tightens his arm around her, sighs, “I know. Me too.”

Shmi closes her eyes, relaxes a little, because of course he knows, he always does. She’s almost startled by him wrapping his other arm around her too, turning more towards her, and then he leans down and kisses her temple before resting his chin on her head.

“You’re ridiculous,” she murmurs, but she can’t help huffing a little laugh anyway. “We both need to sleep.” She doesn’t really want to move.

“I suppose,” he says, a bit sleepy, but he doesn’t move and she’s certainly not going to make him. He just adjusts so he’s leaning more comfortably against the back of the couch, and Shmi smiles to herself.

“You looked very nice tonight,” she says. “Is that what you always wear when you’re mentoring?”

Qui-Gon laughs, his chest rumbling beneath her cheek. “Yes, the Capitol doesn’t approve of modest fashion statements.”

“Lando does,” Shmi says, yawning a little - it’s been a long day, she’s tired. “I’ve seen what he’s made for Ahsoka, and of course what he gave us. I like him, I think.” She’s missed this, the quiet way it doesn’t really matter what they’re talking about, just that they’re here with each other - his presence soothes her. She’d forgotten that, a little.

“He’s something special,” Qui-Gon says, words slurred together with sleepiness, and she smiles to herself.

“You should sleep,” she tells him, fully intending to get up off the couch and shoo him to a bedroom (and maybe follow him there).

“I know, I know,” he says, tightening his arms around her some, and she huffs a laugh.

“Are you intending to go to sleep here?” she asks, amused. It certainly seems like it - and she wouldn’t entirely mind, although she thinks her back and neck muscles would certainly be very angry at her after a few hours. That’s a problem for later.

~~~

Qui-Gon finds that now that he's allowed himself to relax, his weariness swallows him up like a warm wave and the last thing he wants to do is move, but after a moment he sighs, hums, and says, "No, no, of course not," and detangles himself from Shmi, getting tiredly to his feet. He has his own room down the hall, so he starts towards it before realizing that Shmi will need somewhere to sleep, so he points at the door next to his, which ordinarily belongs to Obi. "That room is open," he says, quietly, although a part of him just wants to tug Shmi with him to his room because she makes him feel at home. But despite everything, they've never discussed that sort of thing, and they are in the Capitol, far away from everything safe, so now's not the time to push their boundaries.

Shmi is quiet for a moment, hesitant, then she says, “I might as well just come with you.”

Qui-Gon almost argues with her, asks her if it’s wise to do this, if they want to be more careful since everything could fall apart at any minute, but instead he smiles at her, nods. “I suppose so,” he agrees, and goes to his room, taking his shoes off by the door and programming the closet for clothes. Shmi has followed him, and likewise takes her shoes off, but then stops by him and the closet and eyes it dubiously.

Qui-Gon chuckles a little and, after taking his own selected shirt and pants out of the closet, shows Shmi how the controls work. Then he goes to the bathroom and gets cleaned up, changes into the more comfortable clothes, and comes out to let Shmi have her turn in the bathroom. By the time she’s finished, he’s curled up on one half of the bed, picking at the edge of the soft comforter and second-guessing himself. Shmi pads over on near-silent feet, her hair loose around her shoulders, and gets into bed facing him, smiling a little. She reaches over and takes his hand in hers so he can’t fidget anymore, and he huffs a quiet breath and smiles back at her.

“Sorry, don’t mean to be anxious,” he says, trying to settle in more comfortably.

“I know,” she answers. She squeezes his hand, eyes warm. “Just relax, it’s alright.”

Of course, they both know it’s not alright at all, and it may not be anymore after this either, but somehow Shmi always makes him feel like it will be, so Qui-Gon sighs and closes his eyes and, although he almost thinks he won’t be able to, quickly falls asleep.

Although it’s rare for him, he doesn’t dream at all that night, and when he wakes up, he almost forgets where he is, enough to stretch and stay under the covers for a moment before realizing that he’s not at home, he’s in the Capitol, and he should be with Ahsoka, and Shmi  _ had _ been here but she’s not, now - he sits up quickly and rubs his face, before realizing that Shmi’s shoes are still in the room and his door’s cracked a little. She must just be in the sitting room.

Sure enough, when he leaves his room, he sees her and Rey sitting on one of the couches, and Rey is cuddled up to Shmi’s side and chatting quietly to her, a frown furrowing her forehead. Qui-Gon goes over to them, leans against the back of the couch and ruffles Rey’s hair. “Good morning,” he says, softly. “How are my girls?”

Rey giggles at him and grabs his hand, and Shmi glances up at him and smiles. “We ordered some breakfast, would you like to stay and eat with us?”

Qui-Gon opens his mouth to say yes, then his eyes stray to the dark T.V. screen in the middle of the room and he shakes his head. “I really shouldn’t,” he says, sighing, reaching up to push his hair back out of his face. “I’ve got to go back and replace Obi-Wan.”

“But  _ daddy,”  _ Rey whines, clambering up to stand on the couch although she knows she isn’t supposed to, “we’re getting bacon and  _ donuts, _ and we’re leaving later.”

Qui-Gon smiles at her, trying very hard to be apologetic, says, “I know, but-”

She’s making the face she makes when she’s trying to decide if she wants to cry and make a big fuss, all wide-eyed at him and frowning, and Qui-Gon sighs and ruffles her hair again.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he says, half to himself, then picks her up over the back of the couch and hugs her tight. “Okay, I’ll stay long enough for  _ one _ donut, little jabberjay. One. Then I have to go help your sister.”

Rey hugs him back so tight he winces a little, cheering, and Qui-Gon sighs and walks around to sit by Shmi.

“Anakin’s already left,” she tells him. “He went to see Obi-Wan.”

“Good.” Qui-Gon bounces Rey a little and sighs. “I’m so glad you’re both here.”

“Me too,” Shmi says, and her smile, as always, does something funny to his chest, makes him feel warm all through, and he wants to do something stupid like tell her how much he likes the way her eyes shine when he’s happy or tell her how he misses being with their family right now or tell her that she’s the steadiest person he knows. But in the end the safest thing he can do is lean his shoulder against hers and hug Rey until he has to leave again, because now’s not the time. If they make it home alright, then he can be as stupid as he wants to be.

~~~

Shmi’s back at home when the Games end.

It all happens  _ fast, _ once she and the others get home - they’ve barely had time to get Rey settled and to unpack their things and get the TV turned back on when she’s hearing the commentators talk about  _ a flood, the Gamemakers really outdid themselves this year, _ and Shmi doesn’t even push Rey away and tell her to go find something to do, because all she can think about is that Ahsoka is  _ terrified _ of water.

The flood kills three tributes, including the young boy from Four that Ahsoka had liked so much, had sang for, and Shmi hates that, hates the fact that she can remember singing those songs to Ahsoka when she was a child. She’d seen Miik’s father on the other interviews - she’d watched some clips from them after Qui-Gon left, before their train departed. She thinks his name is Zarak.

She wonders if he’s okay.

They renege on the rule change - Shmi isn’t even surprised anymore, and neither is Anakin, she thinks, but she can’t help twisting her hands tightly together and struggling to breathe, because it’s just Rex and Ahsoka now, and she knows Ahsoka can’t - won’t - kill Rex. And she doesn’t know how else this could end except with Ahsoka’s death, but she knows that Ahsoka’s always been impulsive and reckless, when the people she cares for are on the line. And Shmi’s scared to see how that will play out in the arena.

She almost doesn’t want to watch.

She forces herself to, however, and that’s how she sees Rex refusing to kill Ahsoka, trying to get her to kill him. Ahsoka shakes her head, throws her weapons to the ground, and then she pulls out a handful of berries, and Shmi goes cold.

No. She can’t just-

True to form, Ahsoka pulls something incredibly rebellious out of the moment, somehow managing to get both her and Rex crowned Victors, and all Shmi can think is that this is going to go very, very wrong if they aren’t careful.

What Ahsoka did- She changed the rules, and the Capitol doesn’t appreciate people like that. Shmi knows that better than most, although Qui-Gon still hasn’t told her everything that the Capitol did to him. She knows he was threatened, him and his whole family, though he never did tell her exactly what it was he was supposed to do - he’d gone quiet, at that point, then just shook his head and said he’d tell her some other time. It’d never come up again, and she hadn’t pushed. (Maybe she needs to, now, she thinks. She needs to know what’s in store for her daughter.)

There’s so many interviews, after, and they dress Ahsoka up in things that make her seem almost innocent, younger than sixteen (as if sixteen isn’t young enough), and Shmi hates every moment of it. She doesn’t let Rey watch the party, what little of it is shown, and it’s getting increasingly more difficult to avoid picking up Qui-Gon’s little-used phone and calling the number he’d given her for emergencies - it’s for a phone in the Training Center, apparently, and it’s monitored by Capitol attendants, but he’d told her that if she ever needed something important, to just call and he’d come home.

But he’s going to be here soon, she knows. And she doesn’t need him, she just- wants to talk. Because everything feels so overwhelming, right now.

They meet Ahsoka on the train station, when she, Qui-Gon, and Obi-Wan come home, and Shmi doesn’t think she’s ever hugged one of her children so hard in her life - it’s hard to let go, almost, even when Ahsoka pushes on her and complains that “Mom, I can’t breathe and I want to see Rey, can you let me go?”

Still, Shmi just laughs, a little breathless, steps back so that Ahsoka can go hug Anakin and Rey, and she goes over to Qui-Gon and lets him tug her close to his chest. “You’re back,” she says, quiet, closing her eyes and letting herself breathe, for a moment.

“We’re okay,” Qui-Gon says, so soft, tucking his face into her hair.

Shmi knows that there’s so much she needs to talk to Qui about, and she has a feeling that no matter that the Capitol let Ahsoka come home, they aren’t out of this yet - but with her family finally back together again and Qui-Gon holding her, it feels like they really are okay. 

The camera crews finally get bored after some ten minutes or so of filming, and they all pile back onto the train and it pulls out of the station, and finally Shmi’s able to gently herd her family away from the train platform and back towards their house. It’s a bit of a walk, but she doesn’t totally mind, because Qui-Gon has his arm around her shoulders and Ahsoka and Anakin are swinging Rey between them, and for the moment, things almost seem normal.

Shmi’s never going to take their family dinners for granted anymore, she decides.

There’s one thing she doesn’t want to go back to normal, however, and so late that night, long after everyone’s gone to bed, Shmi comes back downstairs after showering and getting ready for bed herself to find Qui-Gon still sitting up in his chair, the desk lamp next to it the only light on in the house. He’s reading his favorite little book, the one he’s told her he took from Eleven on his Tour, and she crosses over to him, puts a hand on his shoulder.

“You’re up late,” she says, quiet, squeezes his shoulder before absently reaching over and beginning to work the ponytail out of his hair.

“I suppose a little,” he says, smiling up at her, and she huffs.

“I know you, dear,” she says, “and this isn’t normal post-Games behavior. What are you worrying about?” She finishes tugging the hair tie out of his tangled hair and runs her fingers through it, humming to herself as she works through some knots. “Is it Ahsoka?”

~~~

Although Qui-Gon has gotten used to he and Shmi sharing a certain level of closeness over the past few years, because of how they’ve relied on each other, at the moment something about it feels different - more vulnerable and more honest than he almost wants to be. He supposes they’ve both been through hell, over the past couple weeks, and it makes these small things stick. He’s still awake both for his own sake and, if needed, Ahsoka’s - she has her own house, now, in Victor’s Village if she wants it, but Qui-Gon hadn’t been a bit surprised when she’d said she just wanted to come home. He’s glad she doesn’t have to be alone now that she’s back, like he had to be, because he  _ knows _ she will have a hard time adjusting and he expects her to have her fair share of nightmares. There are other things he thinks she has avoided having to deal with, but still, winning the Games isn’t a privilege and it never feels like winning. Qui-Gon isn’t sure she’ll be willing to talk to them about her nightmares, but he intends to be there to help her if she wants to.

“Mostly,” he says, involuntarily shifting back a little towards Shmi. “She’s going to need help, Shmi.”

“I know.” Shmi is quiet and gentle. “And I know you’ll be right there to help her.”

Just like he was for Obi-Wan. Perhaps more helpful, this time, which is a relief. “Yes, of course,” Qui-Gon agrees, seriously, nodding a little.

Shmi stops running her fingers through his hair and instead sets her hands on his shoulders, gently. “You won’t be much of a help if you’re exhausted all the time.”

“I won’t be,” Qui-Gon reassures her, glancing back and reaching up to squeeze one of her hands. “I just wanted to stay up tonight, at least, it’s her first night back.” And his, for that matter - it’s been nice just getting used to the house again and settling into the safe feeling of the familiar noises and his family and the natural dim light that doesn’t look like the Capitol at all.

Shmi smiles slightly. “How late are you planning to stay up?”

“I hadn’t really thought about it. Just until I’m too tired, I suppose.”

“Well, don’t stay up too late,” she says, then, after a pause, “I actually came down here to talk to you about something.”

Qui-Gon nods and turns around partially, nods at the couch next to him. “Sit down?” he says, closing his book with his finger in it to hold his place. He supposes she probably has more questions about Ahsoka, or is worried about Rey or the berries - he hopes not the latter, because they can’t talk about that here. That they’ll have to worry about at another time.

Shmi comes around the couch and sits next to him, quietly, pulling her hair back from her face to absently begin braiding it. She’s so beautiful like this, sometimes, Qui-Gon could look at her forever. She’s quiet, a moment, looking at him thoughtfully, and Qui-Gon ends up setting his book down altogether and folding his hands. Then, after a soft little inhale, Shmi says, “I kissed you, before you left.” Qui-Gon’s breath catches in his throat. “Do you remember that?”

“Yes, I do,” Qui-Gon says, softly, wants to say he can’t forget, was trying not to think about it all through the Games.

Shmi is quiet for another long minute, and it would make him nervous if she weren’t so serene herself. He waits for her to collect her thoughts and mostly keeps himself from picking at his own fingers. Then she looks at him, still quiet, says, “I know we all want things to go back to normal, after all this, but- that’s not something I’d like to take back.”

Qui-Gon knows he ought to respond, sooner than later, ought to agree with Shmi’s sentiment, but he feels entirely too confused for a long minute to think of anything to say. This all seems so quiet, and understated, and she’s looking at him as if it’s the simplest thing in the world. He feels as if he can’t register any of it at all - of course he hadn’t thought she would kiss him if she didn’t mean it, but for the longest time he has told himself that Shmi would never want like that with him and that it would be selfish to ask, and now that he’s been proven wrong he doesn’t know what to do. The easiest thing to do, in the end, is just to say, “I’m glad,” and smile at her, a bit tentative.

Shmi huffs a bit. “You know, everyone else already assumes we’re a couple, it wouldn’t shatter anyone’s world,” she says.

Qui-Gon can’t help a short laugh. “Oh, thank you, I was very worried about my public reputation right now.”

She also laughs, but clearly  _ at  _ him, which (if he’s honest) is nothing unusual. “That’s not what I meant, dear,” she says, taking his hand.

He sighs a little, smiles at her, shaking his head. “Well, then, what did you mean, Shmi Skywalker?”

Shmi, once again, as she often does, is quiet for a moment just looking at him, before she shakes her head, smiles gently, and leans over, still holding his hand, to kiss him.

Qui-Gon sighs a bit, kisses her back and settles his free hand on her shoulder, and like everything else with her it just feels safe. And, he supposes, he’s been being a bit silly, to be nervous, when it’s  _ Shmi. _

She pulls back, after a moment, and he reluctantly sits back too, squeezing her hand, and smiles at her.

“I have to admit I’ve been wanting to do that again when things weren’t so terrible,” he tells her, lightly, although he still feels that he ought to be careful not to overstep.

“So have I,” she says, and he gets the distinct feeling she still wants to laugh at him. “Did that answer your question?”

Qui-Gon should be offended, but he just smiles warmly at her and threads his fingers between hers. “Alright, alright,” he says. “I know you think I’m ridiculous, you don’t have to tease me so much.”

Sure enough, she laughs again, leaning into his shoulder - god, he never would have thought that  _ he _ could make her happy like this. “I would never,” she says.

“Oh, no,” Qui-Gon agrees. He kisses her cheek, settles in, and for a while lets himself forget everything else because right now, this is perfect.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys, sorry this chapter is short! we're writing this as one long oneshot and so we aren't writing out chapter breaks, so it was either cut this short or have a ridiculously long chapter. we hope you're enjoying this - for the people who've commented so far, thank you! <3 this is a super self-indulgent thing but it makes us happy to see that other people are enjoying it as much as we are.
> 
> there's some discussion of sexual harassment/dubcon/noncon in this chapter - anyone who's familiar with the hunger games will know what it is. nothing's explicit.

Ahsoka has nightmares.

Horrible ones, where she wakes up crying in the middle of the night and leaves her room to seek out either Shmi or Qui-Gon for comfort, and there’s so little Shmi can do for her except hug her close and make her tea, and sometimes sing to her, quietly, though her voice isn’t as steady as it used to be. Ahsoka still shares a room with Rey, but one night she quietly asks if she can have her own - she’s been waking Rey up from nightmares. Shmi says she’ll talk to Qui-Gon about what to do about it.

What she ends up suggesting is that she move out of her room and into his, giving Ahsoka the room that frees up. “I don’t mind sharing with you,” she tells him, “and I want to help Ahsoka feel safer. Do you mind?”

“No, of course not,” Qui-Gon says, quickly, almost surprised, and, decision made, Shmi moves her things over the same day.

It amazes her, really, how little things change with the change in their relationship. Qui-Gon kisses her forehead and her hair a lot, likes to take her hands or just casually brush against her when he walks by, is often complimenting her on the little things, and now she’s staying with him at night, but other than that it’s no different from before. And it’s so  _ wonderful. _

Ronan had called her beautiful plenty of times, of course, but Qui likes to tell her that she’s clever and brave, and it’s been a long time since Shmi’s felt either of those things. She tries to tell him that, once. “I’m hardly brave, Qui,” she says, shaking her head at him - it’s later at night and Anakin and Ahsoka are out in the woods and Rey’s already in bed, and Shmi’s sitting in the kitchen drinking tea and watching Qui-Gon bake bread.

He looks over at her, smiling soft and fond, continues to knead the dough as he says, “On the contrary, I think you’re one of the bravest people I know.”

She laughs a little, shakes her head again. “My daughter is brave,” she says. “Obi-Wan is brave. My son is brave, for wanting to start a family even when he knows he can’t guarantee their safety.  _ You _ are brave, for surviving your Games, and for being alone for so long, and for whatever else the Capitol did to you that you don’t want me to know about. None of those things are things I could do.”

Qui-Gon pauses, for a moment, even stops working on his bread. “You’ve raised three children here, Shmi, almost alone, and you just watched Ahsoka go through the Games. And somehow you’re still so kind and you’ve never stopped caring, and that’s- rarer than you think, I believe.” He’s so open and honest, right now, and Shmi can’t totally help believing him.

“Kindness is the only thing I have to give,” she says, softly. “I can’t do anything more for my children, now, except be here for them. And for the people not in our family - what can I do for them, besides be kind? We may have lost nearly everything, Qui, but we still have compassion.”

Qui-Gon is quiet at first, just staring at her, and then he dusts off his hands and says, softly, “Come here?” She does, and as soon as she’s within reach he just takes both of her hands, smiles down at her, and says, “I love you, you wonderful woman.”

Shmi huffs a laugh, drops his hands so she can step closer and hug him  _ tight. _ “You’re ridiculous,” she says, but she almost feels like she’s going to cry. She hasn’t cried in a long time. “I love you too, you should know that by now.”

He kisses the top of her head, hugging her closer. “It’s funny, I think I do,” he says, and he’s teasing but she can hear the almost-wonder in his voice. “Lucky me.”

The bread gets forgotten for a long while.

Eventually Shmi steps back and goes back to sit down, though her tea’s gotten cold, and Qui goes back to his bread, and they sit in companionable silence.

It’s incredible, she thinks, how something so small can make everything feel so much better.

Things are very slow to get better, with Ahsoka - she stops coming to them so much with nightmares, but Shmi knows she’s still having them, she’s just finding other ways to cope. It hurts, some, that she can’t do more, but she knows she needs to let Ahsoka find her own way. Besides, Ahsoka seems to be enjoying the lengthy phone conversations she’s having with Rex, and sometimes Shmi watches her and thinks she really needs to find a way to talk to him.

She gets her chance one day, when the phone rings and Ahsoka’s outside - Shmi goes over and picks it up, says, “Hello, Rex, I assume? Ahsoka’s not here, but I’ll send someone to get her.”

_ “Oh, yeah, okay. Thanks,” _ Rex says, awkward as Qui-Gon was at his age, and Shmi can’t help a smile.  _ “Sorry, who’s this?” _

“This is her mother,” Shmi says, amused. She turns away from the phone for a moment, looks over and says, “Rey? Would you go get Ahsoka, please?” and then returns the phone to her mouth. “I did actually want to talk to you, briefly.”

_ “Alright, about what?” _ Rex asks, and it’s certainly a credit to his upbringing that he sounds quite polite and respectful.  _ “Is something going on with Ahsoka?” _

“No, don’t worry,” Shmi says, shakes her head even though she knows he can’t see it. “I just wanted to talk to you for a minute.” She takes a deep breath. “Be kind to her. Respect her, treat her well, never take her for granted. She deserves the world, and you might not be able to give it to her, but I hope you’ll always remember that anyway.” She will not let Ahsoka fall into the same kind of situation that Shmi herself did. “Why do you love her, Rex?”

His answer will tell her everything she needs to know.

Rex doesn’t answer for a long minute, and she almost wonders if he’s hung up, but she can still hear faint breathing through the line. He clears his throat, says,  _ “I, uh- I think because she’s stubborn, and brave - braver than me, it’s kind of-” _ He stops and clears his throat again.  _ “I guess that’s most of it.” _

Shmi smiles, thinks of Qui-Gon calling her brave, and says, “That’s a good answer, Rex, thank you. I think you’ll do alright in this family.” Ahsoka walks in the door, then, toes off her boots and comes over to the phone, and Shmi smiles, squeezes her daughter’s shoulder. “Ahsoka’s here, I’ll hand you over to her.”

She can trust Rex, she thinks, if those are the things he loves about Ahsoka, if that’s why he risked everything for her in the Games.

~~~

When it has become clear to the family at large that Qui-Gon and Shmi are going to be sharing a room regularly and that their relationship has evolved to something beyond friendship, Qui-Gon is cornered by Anakin out in his garden while he’s weeding the patches near his fence where the plants are the most disordered. It’s been a long time since Anakin was wary or angry in Qui’s house, although he has never been as close with Qui-Gon as the girls, but Qui-Gon isn’t particularly surprised when Anakin crosses his arms and gives him a narrow look.

“So,” Anakin says, after a long enough moment that Qui-Gon chooses to get to his feet. “You and my mom.”

“So it seems,” Qui-Gon says, nodding slightly. “I hope that doesn’t bother you.”

Anakin shrugs. “If it does or not is kinda up to you.”

Dusting his hands off on his pants, Qui-Gon meets Anakin’s eyes and sighs, quietly, offering a small smile. “I promise I’m not going to hurt her, Anakin. You’re all too important to me.”

Anakin is quiet again, for a moment, staring at him with an almost suspicious look that’s become unfamiliar. “I protected her from Ronan,” he says, making Qui-Gon soften, “and I’ll protect her from, too, if I have to.” He hesitates. “I like you, I don’t want to hurt you. But if you hurt her, I won’t hesitate.”

Although Qui-Gon knows that Anakin is dead serious, there is something very like his old fourteen-year-old bravado in the statement, so when Qui answers he tries to be undoubtedly sincere. “I know,” he says, quietly. “But I told you, I promise you won’t have to.”

“Okay,” Anakin answers with a nod, “okay, I’m going to hold you to that.”

Qui-Gon agrees that that’s only right, and he doesn’t talk to Shmi about the conversation - it was Anakin’s business and clearly something he needed, and Qui-Gon certainly doesn’t mind. He thinks Shmi would just be bothered by it, herself.

Of course, then she tells him she’d spoken to Rex on the phone, and he decides perhaps he’d forgotten she can be quite intimidating. Although he hadn’t gotten much of a chance to talk to Rex, they  _ had _ spoken altogether, he and Rex and Ahsoka, after the Games. Shmi, however, tells him that she’d asked him why he loves Ahsoka and that his answer had been good enough for her - Qui-Gon is glad to hear it, tells her he thinks that perhaps in one respect at least Rex and Ahsoka have gotten lucky. Winning the Games together, meeting each other, they aren’t alone in their experiences like they would be otherwise - Qui-Gon can’t imagine what that would be like, frankly, but doesn’t say so. It was a long time ago he won his Games and it’s been a long time since they’ve really plagued him. But he knows it must be good that Rex and Ahsoka talk so much (even if their phone calls really do get ridiculously long, it’s starting to seem excessive).

Once, during the evening, while Ahsoka is on the phone and Qui and Shmi are sitting within earshot in the dining room (which for once doesn’t seem to annoy Ahsoka), Shmi gets lost in thought during the call, chin pillowed on her hand. She doesn’t seem to come back to reality until Ahsoka has gone to bed, when she looks at Qui-Gon, who has been trying to sketch out some new plans for his garden for the spring, and says something that catches him entirely off guard.

"I know there are things you don't talk about, that happened to you after your Games," she says, almost not even looking at him. "I won't push you, but I'd like to know."

Qui-Gon sets aside his paper and pencil and looks closely at her, briefly caught up in a rush of memories from after the Games - there had been many things that went wrong, after, and he doesn’t totally know what she’s referring to. Perhaps all of it. He doesn’t talk about the Games anymore, because it’s been so long and there are some memories better left well enough alone, but he supposes it’s only fair that she asks. “There’s a  _ lot _ associated with the Games that I haven’t felt I needed to talk about,” he agrees, quietly. “If it matters to you to know about those things, I suppose, we could talk. It would help you understand Ahsoka better, at the least.”

“That’s mostly why I asked,” she says, nodding, which surprises him a little, and Qui-Gon glances towards the living room, even though he knows all the kids are in bed, before folding his hands on top of the table and nodding.

“Well,” he says, slowly, trying to organize his thoughts. He supposes he’s never really tried to explain any of this before, except to Obi-Wan when necessary, and he’s not even sure at first what’s important enough to say. “You probably noticed with Rex, or even me, if you remember my Games, but when they get you back from the Arena, even if you were barely in one piece they have you fixed up again and cleaned up like you weren’t hurt at all. Ahsoka’s better off in that respect, but it’s still disorienting - they want you back in front of the cameras and functional before you’ve even gotten to eat real food again.” He sighs, stares at his fingers. “And then you’ve got to watch the Games over again, and go to a party, and everyone’s telling you you did a good job, but it doesn’t feel like you did. Of course.” Although it’s not funny, he darts Shmi a small smile. “That really is the worst thing, I think, is everyone wants you to be normal and okay afterwards, because you’re the one that survived, which means you’re lucky and you get food from the Capitol and a big nice house,” he gestures around, loosely, “and you’re probably never going to worry about your next meal again. So it feels like you can’t be upset, that’d be ungrateful or at least selfish.” Qui-Gon has tried very hard to make sure Ahsoka knows that they understand she’s  _ not  _ okay, and that that’s fine, but still - he worries she’s still trying to hide things, too much.

“Do you think Ahsoka’s struggling with feeling that way?” Shmi asks, nodding thoughtfully.

“Yes.” Qui-Gon nods too. “I doubt she feels it as strongly, but it’s hard not to.” Although the smaller pool of victors and the fact that Rex survived with her have made it much easier, Qui-Gon knows. “And…” He sighs. It is harder to talk about than he’d expected. “Really, the main thing is that it feels wrong to be upset when not only did you  _ survive, _ you survived because you killed other people. So then really you don’t have a right to be feeling sorry for yourself.”

Shmi closes her eyes, just a moment, quiet, seeming pained. “And the Capitol encourages that,” she says.

“Of course,” Qui-Gon answers, lightly. “There is a show to put on, and people who are falling apart are interesting to no one.” Not unless it’s neatly sanitized and manageable - after the Games Qui-Gon had been told to pick a talent to show off to the Capitol whenever they checked in with him, after, and he’d always liked drawing when he was young so he’d draw pictures of the Games and his nightmares. The Capitol liked to cluck sadly at those after his mentor and escort had folded away the pictures that the cameras didn’t want to show. A little tragedy is entertaining, the truth is absolutely unacceptable.

“How did you do this all alone?” Shmi asks, her voice almost a whisper, and Qui-Gon reaches over to pat her hand, reassuring.

He  _ should _ say that his family helped, but that’s not true and she’d known his parents, she would know that that was unlikely. So he just shrugs, pulls his hand back. “I don’t know, I suppose drawing helped. Eventually it was good to have Obi-Wan, too, he understood.”

Shmi scoots her chair over enough to lean over to him and hug him, her cheek against his shoulder. Qui-Gon breathes something like a chuckle and kisses her forehead. “I’m alright now, love, don’t worry.” Most times, in any case, and she’s always there when it isn’t so easy.

~~~

Shmi has never thought too deeply about how the Capitol’s narrative of the Games affects the Victors - she’s had to consider it some, recently, because of Ahsoka, but she’d never really thought- Of course it would be hard, to survive so many other people and be told to be happy, but somehow she’d never really considered what that would mean. “I never thought about how that would affect someone,” she admits, staying leaned against his shoulder. “All the people I knew- We all just wanted to forget the Games ever happened, even after you won. Maybe especially then.” It hadn’t been kind, or fair. But Shmi still remembers her parents quietly cautioning her that maybe her friendship with the new Victor wasn’t such a good idea, and Ronan had agreed, and nothing had really felt right anymore anyway, so she’d listened to them.

“Of course people don’t want to remember the Games,” Qui-Gon says, so incredibly understanding, and she thinks that half of this District doesn’t deserve him.  _ “I _ didn’t want to. It’s a lot to think about when you’ve already lost people.”

“It’s not fair to the people who survived, though,” she says, sitting up and taking both his hands. “I can understand the urge - I’ve felt it myself, some, but it doesn’t help anyone.”

“I suppose not,” he says, shrugging. “But we all do what we have to to get by, some better than others.”

“That doesn’t make it right,” she says quietly, squeezes his hands. She sighs, shakes her head a little, says, “I seem to have gotten a bit off-topic.”

“Ah, well,” Qui-Gon says, considers a moment. “I’m not sure what else to tell you, you already know about the nightmares.”

Shmi hesitates for a moment, then straightens, frowning. “When you were younger, you used to go to the Capitol a lot,” she says, “and it seems like Obi-Wan visits every month. Will Ahsoka have to do that?” She doesn’t want to let Ahsoka go by herself to the Capitol, but if she has to- Well. They do what they must to get by, he’s right about that.

“No, no,” Qui-Gon says, quickly, like he’s trying to reassure her, “she’ll be alright. She’ll only have to go back for the mentoring, now.”

Shmi frowns, tilts her head to one side. He sounds almost like- “What happens, why does Obi-Wan go to the Capitol so often? Why did  _ you?” _ She’d just assumed it was mainly for the TV spots she sees, or related to Obi-Wan’s talent, or for his stylists, but the way Qui’s talking it seems almost sinister.

Qui-Gon shifts, folds his hands together in his lap, and his voice is much more quiet and serious when he speaks. “Now’s probably not the best time, Shmi, and I’m not sure you want to know.”

“I do,” she says, soft, meeting his eyes and leaning forward, hands on her knees. “Because it’s something that happened to you, something that must’ve affected you deeply for you to react like this, and- If it’s happening to Obi-Wan as well, it’s something I need to know about.”

Qui-Gon looks at her for a while, like he’s gauging something, and then he sighs and nods, looks pointedly around the room. “I think we’d better have this conversation in our room.”

More than anything, that’s what makes Shmi realize that this is a  _ serious _ topic - they’ve done some investigating, over the years, found the basic position of all the listening devices, and there’s only one in their bedroom. All of the bedrooms are relatively safe places to talk (with the added bonus of being free from children accidentally listening in).

She nods, slowly, and they get up and put their chairs back and head to the bedroom, turning off the lights as they go, and Qui turns on the soft yellow desk lamp on the nightstand on his side of the bed. Qui sits down, leaning against the headboard, pulling the blankets over his lap, and Shmi joins him, lets him wrap an arm around her shoulders and tug her partly into his chest. “Remember I said Ahsoka will be fine,” he says.

Shmi frowns up at him, puts a hand on his chest. “You’re worrying me, Qui,” she tells him. “What did they  _ do?” _

Qui-Gon smiles at her, just a little, brings one hand up to gently run through her hair. “I’m sorry,” he says, and then he takes a deep breath, clearly steeling himself. “There’s a- I suppose I’d call it a system - in place for Capitol citizens who are especially rich and interested in the Games,” and there’s something like a tremor in his voice. Shmi tightens her arm around him, dread gnawing at the pit of her stomach. “If someone finds a Victor particularly attractive, they can pay the President for a night with the Victor. Or the President waives the fee when he wants to do someone a favor.”

It almost doesn’t sink in, at first. “How can he do that?” she asks, shakes her head a little. “He wouldn’t- Against their will?”

Qui-Gon doesn’t really say anything, just stops stroking her hair long enough to gently squeeze her shoulder, and Shmi swallows hard, looks up at him. “You’re saying-” and she stops, almost can’t make herself finish the sentence. “You had to do that, when you were younger? And  _ Obi-Wan-” _ He’s so young, one of the younger Victors, and it twists something inside her to think of him being- well, being  _ used _ like that. And  _ Ahsoka- _ He says she’ll be fine, but… “Qui-Gon, I’m- I don’t even know what to say, that’s  _ awful.” _ She feels sick, almost.

~~~

Qui-Gon would think that since it’s been some thirty years since he’s last been summoned to the Capitol outside of the Games, he wouldn’t be rattled by explaining it anymore, but he still feels a little nauseous, and isn’t entirely sure what else to say to Shmi. It is steadying, though, her being curled against him and her hand on his chest, and he slips his fingers through her hair again with a little sigh. “I’m worried about Obi-Wan,” he admits, although really he’d rather not dwell on the topic at all. “This has been really hard on him and I don’t know when they’ll lose interest in him.”

It had taken them years, but still not too long in the end, for the Capitol to get bored of  _ him _ \- eventually there had been new Games and new Victors and he’d grown too old for them, and, he assumes, boring. Obi-Wan’s different, though, and Qui-Gon knows he’s worse off than he was. But Qui-Gon has been able to help Obi-Wan more than his old mentor was ever able to help him, so that’s something.  _ And _ Obi-Wan has Satine, these days, which has helped and will help more, now.

Shmi reaches up and skims her fingers over his cheekbone, softly. “Does Anakin know?”

“I imagine so,” Qui-Gon says. “Obi-Wan doesn’t talk about it, but knowing him and Anakin… Yes.” He shifts a bit, rubbing his jaw with one hand. “Really, I don’t think he’d prefer for you to know, and if it was just about him I wouldn’t have told you, but…”

Shmi is looking at him, quietly, and the expression on her face is pained so that Qui-Gon almost regrets telling her, even though he knows she’s not new to hard things like this. Then, though, somewhat to his surprise, she asks, “May I kiss you?”

Qui-Gon breathes a small laugh and stills his fingers in her hair. “Certainly,” he says, so she leans up and kisses him softly, her arm still around his waist tight enough that he knows she’s upset. When she pulls back a little, it’s only to nudge him to settle down more onto her level (because for all that she is very fierce and brave, Shmi is also a very small woman), and she wraps both arms around him and rests her head on his shoulder. Qui-Gon sighs and puts his arms around her too, settling into a feeling of comfort that’s slowly becoming familiar. “Ahsoka and Rex have each other,” he points out, quietly, because he wants to be quite sure she’s not worried about her daughter, “and everyone’s too enamoured with that to bother them. Besides-” and he can’t help but smile, still a bit amused, “-District Two’s escort scared everyone into thinking they might put themselves in mortal danger by bothering either of them, he was very dramatic about it.” He’s still rather surprised Hondo Ohnaka had proved to be anything approaching a decent, educated sort of person, but it had worked to their advantage so he’s hardly going to complain.

“And if that doesn’t work out?” Shmi asks, quietly. “I can’t make Ahsoka go through that, Qui.”

“Just trust me on this one, Shmi,” Qui-Gon says, which feels like a foolish thing to say but he feels that he understands the Capitol well enough by now to say it anyway. “The Capitol might like to make people do all sorts of things they’d rather not do, but they never like to think that we’re doing anything but having fun just like they are. Nobody’s going to want to feel responsible for breaking up the couple of the year, either.” It’s an unflattering and perfectly accurate picture of the Capitol citizens, as far as Qui-Gon can judge - they are not malicious, they’re merely stupid. At times, Qui-Gon almost pities them, but they’re stupid by design and wilfully ignorant, so it is much easier not to feel sorry for them. He has enough to worry about at home and in the Districts.

Shmi is quiet, a moment, thoughtful. “Is that why no one’s made a fuss over the berries?” she asks, and Qui darts a glance across the room, spine stiffening. “They aren’t smart enough to realize what it meant?”

Qui-Gon tightens his arms around her, frowns and leans his forehead against hers so he can talk just above a whisper. “Shmi, that’s a topic we’d best leave alone. But the Capitol citizens never make a fuss about anything, that is exactly the point of them.”

Shmi lowers her voice, too, to the same tone. “I’m sorry, Qui, I didn’t think about that.”

He sighs a little, shifts back and kisses her forehead. “Another time,” he tells her. Because they will have to talk about what Ahsoka did, and how very close they are to everything going wrong if Ahsoka or Rex does the wrong thing. Qui-Gon knows that given time, even these sorts of things smooth over with care, but so far he doesn’t like anything about this. Particularly not the fact that Ahsoka certainly didn’t do what she did by  _ mistake. _

Shmi nods, then, quietly, says, “I am so, so sorry for what you’ve been through, my dear - I wish you didn’t have to explain it all to me.”

Qui-Gon hugs Shmi very tight, sighs and relaxes in the same breath. “I love you,” he says, softly. “And I’m alright.”

“I love you too,” she tells him, which still makes him smile. She cuddles in closer to him. “Whatever happens now, you’ll never be alone again. I promise.”

Qui-Gon tucks his face against Shmi’s hair, sighs again. “I know,” he says, warmth filling his chest. “I know.”

And although as the year turns cold and they get closer to the Victory Tour and it gets harder to find little moments of peace like that, Shmi keeps her promise, and they both do everything they can for Ahsoka, and Qui-Gon decides that he can have one thing that will help him while they’re preparing for the Tour.

So he sits up with his little book from Eleven, and visits some of the flower sellers in the market, and looks at his own garden, and makes lists on a carefully-folded square of paper about what sorts of flowers he thinks remind him most of Shmi. Because, he thinks, if he’s going to propose to Shmi, he has to do it just right. And he wants it to be special. So by the time the Tour comes around and they’re expecting the Capitol attendants to descend on Seven like butterflies on a corpse, he has a list of all the flowers he wants and a little fund of savings to use for them, both of which are hidden very carefully away from where Shmi will find them.

They’re not guaranteed anything at all, but Qui intends to make the best of it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more fic!
> 
> we're getting caught up to where we're writing at currently now. leave a comment?

Shmi doesn’t want to let Ahsoka go on the Victory Tour. She doesn’t mean to, exactly, it’s just that she doesn’t want Ahsoka going back to the Capitol, even though she knows she’ll have to, every year, for the Games, to help mentor. It’s just… she knows Ahsoka better than almost anyone, and she knows that this - revisiting the Games, everyone who died - is going to hurt her daughter, even if she won’t show it. Ahsoka’s been alternating between spending slightly-ridiculous amounts of time on the phone with Rex, helping Rey with her schoolwork, and disappearing into the woods for hours at a time - the last one most frequently happens after she has to sing for the Capitol. (Ahsoka had told Shmi she hadn’t  _ wanted _ to make singing her talent, but after she’d sang in the arena, it’s all anyone would talk about, and she hadn’t been able to think of anything else.)

Ahsoka’s supposed to sing for a bit before the Tour. That was expected.

What wasn’t expected, what hits harder, is the perfunctory knock on the door, nearly an hour before Lando and the crews are supposed to arrive. 

It’s the President.

Shmi’s not-quite-shaky when she shows him to the study, goes into the kitchen and takes deep, steadying breaths before making tea and bringing it to him, promising that Ahsoka will be back soon from her walk. She doesn’t know why Palpatine is here, can’t even  _ imagine, _ almost - this doesn’t feel totally real. The Capitol doesn’t care about the Districts. The President doesn’t come to people’s homes.

That, in the end, is what convinces her it  _ is _ real: the impossibility of it. This shouldn’t be happening, is something she’d never dream up, not even after Qui-Gon told her about what the Capitol does to its most beautiful Victors, therefore it must be happening.

She still goes to find Qui-Gon anyway, for comfort just as much as it is for confirmation, because things feel like they’re unraveling right in front of her.

Ahsoka comes back, goes to see the President, and eventually he leaves with as little fanfare as he’d come with, nodding at Shmi before he steps outside, like they’ve shared something. And Ahsoka doesn’t come out of the study.

Shmi can’t help going to check on her.

Ahsoka’s sitting in a chair in front of the desk, staring at the window behind it, and she jumps when the door opens, quickly looks over her shoulder before relaxing. “Mom…” she says, slowly, and Shmi feels something in her crack.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” she says, crosses the room and pulls Ahsoka into a tight hug. “I’ve got you.”

Ahsoka doesn’t cry into her chest, not like she would’ve before the Games - she’s too aware of cameras now. But she holds on  _ tight, _ shaking, and Shmi closes her eyes and tries not to be afraid of what the President was saying.

Qui-Gon promised Ahsoka would be fine, that she wouldn’t have to go through what he did. And Shmi doesn’t want to think that that’s what Palpatine was here for, but- She’s not sure what else it could be.

She just has to hope.

Qui comes in after a few minutes, walks over and puts one hand on Shmi’s shoulder and the other on Ahsoka’s. “Are you okay, Ahsoka?” he asks, very soft. “What was that about?”

Ahsoka pulls back, looks at him with so much sick anguish in her eyes, and Shmi swallows hard.  _ Please, no. _ “The berries,” she whispers, and Shmi closes her eyes, hates the fact that she feels  _ relieved. _ “He said he’ll have- everyone killed if I can’t prove I wasn’t just trying to rebel.”

Qui-Gon goes tense, and Shmi steps back from Ahsoka enough to take his hand. “Did he tell you  _ how? _ Do you think he was giving you options or is that our warning?”

“The warning,” Ahsoka says, looking down at the floor. “He said- to prove that I love Rex. But I don’t think I can convince him, I- accidentally said something and now he doesn’t believe me anymore.”

If he ever believed her in the first place, Shmi can’t help but think. The President doesn’t seem like one to ignore possible rebellion, even if it’s accidental.

“Ahsoka…” she says, soft, and Ahsoka swallows, shakes her head.

“I have to go get ready for the cameras,” she says, a bit louder, more firm, and then she steps away and walks back through the door.

Shmi closes her eyes again, because Ahsoka’s changed so  _ much _ since the Games, but it’s never been this obvious, and it hurts - Qui-Gon tugs her against his chest, drops a light kiss on her forehead, and she leans her forehead against his shoulder, wrapping her arms around him.

“I hate this,” she whispers, doesn’t dare specify any further, because they both know what she’s talking about and this is the least safe their house has ever been.

“I’m sorry,” he says in the same tone, and Shmi swallows back tears.

She’s never been one to cry, not really, and with cameras coming to their house in less than an hour this isn’t the time. So she tries to think of something less- hopeless, takes a slightly-shaky breath and says, “When you’re in the Capitol, will you bring me something?” she asks, soft but not as quiet as before. “Something that reminds you of me.”

Qui-Gon lifts one hand to cup her cheek, gentle, and she leans into the comforting touch. “Alright, I will,” he says, and she believes him.

They don’t get much more quiet (not peace, not really, not after the President being here) before the camera teams arrive and everything’s just organized chaos, a few minutes spent filming Ahsoka’s singing and her talking about it, and then she’s being dressed up and they’re all herded to the train station. Anakin starts a snowball fight - he’s more aware of the tension in the air than he shows, even though no one’s told him why the President was here - and Ahsoka and Rey both join in eagerly, and Shmi has to smile as she watches them, even though it aches. 

They’re still okay, somehow. Things are breaking but this- They still have family.

Rex leaves the train and even though the cameras are distracting, Shmi’s grateful for the chance to meet him face to face, because even though their last conversation had left her cautiously approving of him, it’s always good to make sure. He’s polite, though, handles Anakin’s extreme distrust better than she could’ve hoped, and when she tugs Qui a little ways away from the others to say goodbye, Rex nudges Ahsoka away to give them privacy (as little as they can have with the cameras around). She appreciates that.

She doesn’t have much time with Qui, just enough to kiss him and tell him she loves him, and she knows the cameras catch it but there’s nothing she can do, and nothing she particularly  _ wants _ to do. The Capitol already has so much of their lives under its control, she won’t let fear of them take this, too.

The Tour is a physically painful thing to watch.

Ahsoka and Rex are dressed up a hundred different ways and made to give speeches she’s sure neither of them could’ve written if they’d tried, and the TV shows the parties that probably cost enough that half the District won’t eat for the next three weeks to make up for it, and everything’s supposed to be  _ good, _ a  _ celebration. _

They come back to Seven for a night, during the Tour, and there’s another party here - she goes, is able to dance a little with Qui-Gon and hug Ahsoka and that makes things marginally better, but she’s only been asleep for a little while that night, Qui-Gon curled up around her, when there’s loud chaos from downstairs that sends her shooting upright.

“Don’t worry,” Qui murmurs in her ear - he’s sat up behind her, has one hand on her shoulder. “And I’m sorry we couldn’t ask your permission first.”

She doesn’t know what he’s talking about, yet, but she pulls on a robe and heads downstairs to see Rex and Ahsoka and the camera crew, and Ahsoka’s holding a carved flower and the crew is talking about a wedding, and she suddenly understands what Qui meant.

Part of her is angry, wants to step in and say  _ no, you can’t have this, you have enough already, this is too far, _ but she knows she can’t - but it’s true, Ahsoka’s barely even seventeen, she can’t be married to a boy Shmi barely knows. Shmi was too young when she married Ronan, she thinks, she didn’t know what she was doing, and sure, Rex is a good man now. But Ronan was a good man, too, once upon a time. Before things changed.

She doesn’t want Ahsoka to go through what she did. She  _ can’t. _

Shmi smiles, and hugs both Ahsoka and Rex, and congratulates them, and if she’s a little quiet the cameras don’t know the difference, and when the Capitol crews finally let them all go back to bed she leaves the robe wrapped tight around her to stave off a chill that isn’t physical and curls up on her own side of the bed, near the edge, staring at the wall.

Qui-Gon lays down behind her, close but not touching, rests a hand on her arm, and she closes her eyes.

“I can’t do this,” she whispers, shakes her head. “All of this, Qui, it’s- She’s  _ seventeen.” _

“I know, I’m sorry,” Qui says, and she tugs her knees to her chest and presses her face more into her pillow.

“I can’t just let her get married. Not for  _ them.” _ Shmi would’ve given her life to protect her children from Ronan, once, and she’d still do it now. They’re everything to her, of course she’ll protect them. “I can’t. I’ll take the blame for ruining the Capitol’s fairy-tale wedding, Qui, but I  _ can’t _ let her go through with it. Not now, not yet.” She rolls over, slowly, to face him, meets his eyes, dead serious.

Rex is not a bad man. But that doesn’t mean he can’t become one.

Qui takes her hands in his, says, “They’re just trying to protect everyone, Shmi.” He sounds so  _ tired. _ “Things are- getting worse, and if this can convince them…”

“I’ll take the blame for it,” she repeats, “but she’s just a  _ child, _ I won’t let this happen. Maybe in a few years, when they’ve grown up and they still care for each other and we know for certain what kind of man Rex is becoming. But not now.” She closes her eyes, tugs one hand away from Qui-Gon to press it to her face.

He squeezes her hand and lets go, and she doesn’t look at him as he says, “It doesn’t have to be  _ real _ now, Shmi, I don’t think either of them wanted it yet either, really. But I’m afraid of what will happen to us and to the Districts if we don’t try everything.”

Shmi swallows, hard, because of course this has to be about everyone else, it can’t just be about her daughter, just Ahsoka and her  _ life. _ “Okay,” she says, feels hollow. She’s exhausted.

She needs to make sure Rey’s alright, there’s been a lot this evening.

“I’m going to check on Rey,” she says, sits up again and pushes herself out of the bed and slides her feet into her slippers. She doesn’t think she can sleep, right now.

Qui pushes himself half-upright, asks, “Do you want me to come with you?”

Shmi hesitates a moment, because his presence has always been a comfort and she knows Rey’s been missing him, but- “I know you don’t sleep enough in the Capitol as it is,” she says, tucking her arms around her. “You need to rest, I won’t be gone long.”

There’s a long pause before he just nods and says, “Okay,” and she takes a shaky breath and leaves the room, closing the door gently behind her.

She’s quiet when she opens Rey’s room, sees that her youngest is asleep sprawled out on her bed, though when Shmi walks in she opens her eyes a little, sleepily. “Mom?” she says, and Shmi walks over, sits down on the bed and runs a hand over Rey’s brown hair.

“Hello, little jabberjay,” she says, soft. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Mhm.” Rey yawns and curls up, big brown eyes blinking up at Shmi. “Is ‘Soka gonna go live with Rex now?”

“Not for a long time,” Shmi says, keeps stroking her hair. “Don’t worry about that, sweetie, just go back to sleep.”

“Rex is cool,” Rey sighs, closing her eyes and hugging her stuffed dog to her chest (the same one Shmi had painstakingly sewn for Anakin, twenty years ago now, though it’s been patched up so many times she’s not sure there’s any of the original fabric left). “He made me a little horse.”

“I’m glad you like him,” Shmi says, presses a kiss to Rey’s forehead. “Sleep well, love, I’ll make you pancakes in the morning.”

Rey grins, bright even though she’s clearly on the edge of sleep. “Promise?” she asks, and Shmi smiles.

“Promise,” she says. “Goodnight.”

“Night.” Rey presses her face into her pillow, and Shmi kisses her daughter’s head one more time, then gets back to her feet and leaves the bedroom, closing the door behind her.

When she gets back to her room, resisting an urge to check in on Ahsoka on the way (she knows Rex is staying with her), she opens the door as silently as she can, hoping Qui is asleep. He’s laid back down and pulled the blankets up again, but she’s fairly sure he’s still awake as she quietly closes the door and pads across the room, takes off her robe and slides her feet out of her slippers. She wishes he’d sleep, he needs the rest and she isn’t sure she can talk to him right now.

Everything feels so  _ wrong, _ and it feels like she’s one wrong step away from shattering.

~~~

When Shmi quietly gets back into bed, Qui-Gon isn’t sure if he should reach for her or not - he knows she’s upset, and it had been him who’d agreed to the plan to have Rex stage a proposal with Ahsoka. It had all been Rex’s idea, and Qui-Gon knows Shmi probably isn’t quite  _ angry _ with him, but he’s not sure she wants to talk to him right now, either. So when she lays down, he just reaches over and takes one of her hands again, threads his fingers between hers carefully. “I’m sorry, love,” he says, softly.

“I know,” she says, rubbing her eyes with the hand he’s not holding. “Me too.”

Qui-Gon carefully shifts a bit closer to her, slips his fingers into her hair around her face and smoothing it back from her forehead, tucking the loose strands behind her ear. She’s looked at him tiredly, like she might cry, and Qui-Gon leaves his hand in her hair and presses his forehead to hers. “She’ll be okay,” he says, although it feels like a lie. “We’re alright, Shmi.”

She closes her eyes, shakes her head minutely. “I can’t keep doing this.” Her voice comes out in barely a whisper.

Qui-Gon sighs quietly and gives in to his original impulse to wrap both arms around Shmi, close and careful at the same time, and before he can even say anything Shmi shudders and then starts to cry, her eyes still shut tight. It hurts Qui-Gon somewhere small to see her cry - she hasn’t broken down in a long, long time. But he just tucks her closer to him and buries his face in her hair and whispers quietly to her, not saying much at all.

He doesn’t tell her it’s going to be okay, anymore, because although some small part of him can’t help believing it will be, they both know he’s lying when he says it, and it doesn’t help. Shmi cries for what feels like a long time, holding on tight to him, before she settles more and curls quietly into his chest, and Qui-Gon strokes her hair and tells her to go to sleep. “We’ll be able to stay a little in the morning,” he reminds her. “I’m here.”

“I love you,” she says, hoarsely.

“I love you too.”

Qui-Gon falls asleep like that, curled up around Shmi as much as he can be, hand tangled in her hair.

They don’t have much time the next day before the train, but it’s time enough to have breakfast with their family, Rex awkwardly included, and time enough for Qui-Gon to tell Shmi a proper goodbye and kiss her again and promise her he’ll bring her something nice when he’s home.

He and Obi and Rex and Ahsoka avoid the fact that even the ill-timed proposal probably won’t help fix everything now. There’s no sense worrying the family yet, Shmi especially.

They’re in an odd sort of limbo, in the next few Districts, Rex and Ahsoka determinedly playing their parts and barely even consulting with Qui-Gon and Obi anymore - Qui-Gon worries that the two of them are getting too used to being alone with themselves, and doesn’t know what to do about it. He’s the closest thing Ahsoka really has to a father anymore but he doesn’t know how to help, really. It makes him glad, then, when they arrive in Four and Rex and Ahsoka take the morning to act their age and disappear. He pretends to be irritated along with Lando and Sabe, but he thinks he’s too relieved to see them come back sand-covered and smiling to be upset. Shmi’s right, they’re too young for this, but that’s just life here.

It’s a somber day after that, because they’re all remembering Rex and Ahsoka’s little twelve-year-old ally Miik, and Lando and Sabe’s choices for them are dark clothes, serious - Victory Tour or no, Qui-Gon can’t argue with them and the small act of defiance. District Four had sent a gift for Ahsoka and Rex, what feels like forever ago during the Games, and Qui-Gon had almost not wanted to accept the gift, because he knew that for a District to scrape together enough for a gift… But it’s not his job to tell them they can’t show their gratitude, and it had been important. Now, he hopes that Rex and Ahsoka will be able to appropriately show their respect for the people of Four.

That is, in one sense, exactly what happens.

In another, Qui-Gon finds himself so shocked and angry and terrified that he can barely speak to either Rex or Ahsoka, because after everything they’ve done to try to quiet things in the Districts, after the proposal and months of anxiety, the two of them stand on stage as if they don’t understand the consequences at all and tell Four that they’re sorry that their tributes died, that they shouldn’t have died, and Ahsoka gives some of her winnings to Four, which is  _ not _ allowed, and Rex gives some gift to Miik’s father Zarak, which isn’t acceptable either, and by the time they’re back to their borrowed Victor’s house, they’ve explained that Miik’s father was executed and Qui-Gon feels as if he can feel the angry crowd behind him the whole way.

He wants to scold Ahsoka, he wants to ask her how she could forget what the consequences would be. But he knows she didn’t forget at all.

He half expects to wake up and see everything’s already been taken, but he doesn’t. All the way to the Capitol, Qui-Gon determinedly continues to do what he has to as a good mentor, tries to maintain a calm front, but he keeps expecting things to go wrong. And when they don’t yet, that worries him too.

When they reach the Capitol, although Qui-Gon has precious little time to himself, he still breaks away from everyone as soon as he has space to breathe and, for the first time, finds that the Capitol’s streets almost feel like a reprieve from everything. With a borrowed outfit from Lando that doesn’t entirely fit and enough money for what the Capitol would consider a trinket, he loses himself in all the turning, colorful streets and keeps his head down and lets all the delighted chatter of mockingjay-bedecked citizens blur into white noise.

He keeps being afraid they’ll go home and see that Shmi and Rey and Anakin are already gone, but he staves off that worry looking for the right present for Shmi.

He’ll get her the flowers when he goes home. He will. Things will be fine.

He wishes he could really be angry with Ahsoka and Rex, he wishes he had the heart to tell them to stop what they’re doing, but they’ve known it’s been too late for a while now, and Qui-Gon knows that he prefers this to if Ahsoka was just lying down and taking everything. But it still feels as if everything’s crashed down around them altogether.

Qui-Gon tries so hard to keep from feeling as if he’s finding Shmi a goodbye gift.

He doesn’t know what to give to her - he knows she doesn’t have many dresses, and she likes them, but nothing the Capitol citizens sell to wear would ever suit Shmi, it’s all too gaudy, and in any case Qui-Gon realizes he doesn’t know what size she’d even need. He looks at pictures and knick-knacks and all sorts of other things, but nothing seems right, although he does purchase her a small length of blue fabric because it’s been a long time since she’s gotten to sew something just for her.

The  _ real _ gift he finds quite by accident, after Rex and Ahsoka’s interview with Caesar Flickerman and Palpatine’s surprise guest appearance. Qui-Gon, after hugging Ahsoka, goes to lose himself in the crowds again and finds himself in one of the few “book stores” (what passes for a book store, in any case, which isn’t much in the Capitol) skimming his fingers over trashy romance stories in the hopes of finding some forgotten-about gem of a book.

Instead, he finds a shelf full of assorted oddities, which are labelled as “quaint,” just the sort of things that would appeal to the odd Capitol citizens who even like to read at all. There are lots of things that actually strike Qui-Gon as rather nice, but the main thing that catches his eye is a set of three combs, made of wood that’s been polished to a soft sheen, with turquoise or sea glass or black stones that are supposedly “polished coal” (which is not correct, but it’s not as if anyone would know) set into them. Qui-Gon looks around, then picks up the comb with turquoise set into it and then quickly decides he’d best purchase it.

It’s the right gift, he knows it is, simple and lovely like Shmi herself, and if perhaps he keeps it safe in his pocket throughout the rest of their time in the Capitol, running his fingers over the smooth surface, he thinks no one would blame him. Before they get to Two, Ahsoka tells him that Rex is planning to try to transfer to Seven, and Qui-Gon swallows back all the things he could say and smiles and tells her he hopes that that keeps her from talking on the phone for so long, now.

Then he finds the phone on the train and, despite knowing that he’ll barely be able to say anything because it’ll all be heard, calls Shmi. It’s mostly just to hear her, so when she actually  _ does  _ answer, sounding concerned that he’s calling at all, he just tells her he misses her and then excuses himself.

It feels like a long, long time they’re in Two, and even longer before the train stops back home at Seven and Qui-Gon finds his list of flowers, unfolds it to read to himself as he follows Ahsoka and Obi-Wan off the train to the quiet of the platform.

There is an unusual number of Peacekeepers here today, and Qui-Gon almost reconsiders his plan to stop at the market on the way home, but he feels as if time is so limited anyway, and he’s afraid, but he’s home and if he’s going to only have a little normalcy left, he’s going to make it count.

So he takes Ahsoka’s shoulder and tells her to go on home ahead of him, that he’s stopping to get some things for dinner and he’ll be right behind her after he’s gone to the market, and goes off alone again.

Despite the fact that the District seems full of Peacekeepers and everyone’s staring at him, Qu-Gon feels his chest lighten some as he arrives at the market with its busy stalls and shops. He stops long enough to get some little frosted cakes from the bakery that cost entirely too much, then goes to the flower shop which thrives almost solely on the sort of business Qui-Gon has to offer - after all, someone has to be there to help people choose flowers for their proposals even when things go to hell. Qui-Gon almost finds it funny.

The florist seems amused by him, but helps him choose one of each of the flowers on his list (written in his poor chicken-scratch handwriting that Obi-Wan insists is unreadable) and tie them together with ribbon. She asks him why she hasn’t seen him sooner.

“I don’t know,” Qui-Gon says, smiling wryly, and she laughs at him.

“Well.” She presses the small bouquet into his hand, her face going more serious. “Good luck, Jinn.”

Qui-Gon can’t remember the last time anyone said that to him, so he smiles and nods and pays her, and starts for home, the flowers cradled careful in his arms.

It feels surreal walking home alone, and although a part of him is still so afraid that everything will already be ruined at home, mostly he’s just thrilled that he’s about to be home at last, terrified to give the flowers to Shmi because he knows it has to be just  _ right, _ he wants her to know how much he loves her, how glad he is to have her at least for now.

His house looks exactly as it always does, the lights on in the windows, and he holds the bouquet in one hand behind his back and lets himself in the front door, feeling almost as if he has to be quiet and not disturb anyone. He can hear Rey chattering somewhere upstairs, and the quieter voices of her siblings, but there’s water running in the kitchen so he toes his shoes off and walks into the kitchen, stops a little inside the doorway with a smile. Shmi is cleaning vegetables at the sink and has a pot on the stove, and there are ingredients on the counter for bread, which she’s done for him in the past when he gets back from the Games.

“Hey, love,” Qui-Gon says, warmly, “I’m home.”

Shmi looks over her shoulder, smiling, and makes a loose  _ come here  _ gesture with one hand, without turning away from the sink. “Ahsoka said you stopped by the market,” she says, as he crosses the kitchen towards her and lightly kisses her on the lips. “You didn’t need to.”

“I most certainly did,” Qui-Gon says, steps back a bit and produces his flowers with a not-quite-flourish. “These are for you, if you’d like them, Shmi.”

~~~

Things have been… hectic, since the show Ahsoka and Rex put on in Four.

Shmi had understood why they’d done what they did, but it hadn’t made it any easier to watch, not when she knows that everything the two of them do reflects directly back on their safety. They’re playing a dangerous game, and Shmi is so, so afraid of what will happen when the consequences come.

Qui-Gon calls her from the train, once, and it nearly terrifies her. He says he misses her, and they only talk for a couple of minutes before he hangs up the phone, and it leaves Shmi pacing and trying not to worry Rey. They’ll let him come home, she has to believe that - there weren’t any punishments on the Tour, the President is clearly preparing for something, and killing off the Tour isn’t part of it, or he would’ve done it already.

Still.

When Ahsoka comes home, Shmi leaves the kitchen, drying her hands on her apron, and it’s a nearly physical blow to see Qui-Gon not there. Ahsoka must realize that, because she hurries to explain that he’d said he was stopping at the market to pick up some things for dinner, and Shmi can’t entirely help the sigh of relief. Still, she hugs her daughter tightly, tells her Anakin and Rey are upstairs and would like to see her, and when Ahsoka goes to the stairs she goes back to the kitchen, picks up her peppers and starts washing them again.

It’s almost too good to be true, that all of them are home again and nothing’s wrong (yet).

Qui comes home a few minutes later - Shmi can hear the door open and close behind him and his distinctive booted footsteps - and he comes into the kitchen to see her and she can feel herself relaxing the last bit of the tension she’s been carrying, the past couple of weeks. “Hey, love,” he says, “I’m home.”

Shmi smiles at him, glancing back over her shoulder, waves him over to her with one hand. “Ahsoka said you stopped by the market. You didn’t need to.” He comes over and kisses her and she leans into him, for a moment, though if he decides to stay here and be distracting his soup isn’t going to be done in time for dinner.

“I most certainly did,” he says, setting a plate of small, frosted cakes he must’ve gotten from the baker’s down on the counter, and then he steps out and from behind his back produces a bouquet of  _ flowers _ and oh. “These are for you, if you’d like them, Shmi.”

Shmi drops the pepper into the sink.

“Qui-Gon, I-” She stops, can’t think of what to say. “I’ve been living with you for seven years,” is what comes out, and she shakes her head. “Of course I’d like them, you ridiculous man, come here.” She reaches out and tugs on his sweater until she can hug him  _ tight, _ leaning her cheek against his shoulder and taking the bouquet from him in her free hand. White roses, bluebell, geranium, and what she thinks are blue hyacinth and gladiolus - the bouquet is clearly something he’s thought about, the flowers talking about kindness and steadiness and strength of character and friendship.

She can’t help thinking back to the flowers Ronan had given her: white dittany, red roses, and jasmine, and there’s so much of a difference between the two it hurts, though not in a bad way.

Qui slips one hand beneath her chin and tilts her head up so he can kiss her, then leans his forehead against hers. “I love you,” he says, soft. “Marry me?”

“Of course,” Shmi says, warm, pulls back from him long enough to grab a vase from under the counter and fill it with water, tucking the flowers in and setting them carefully down on the counter. “I can’t believe you waited this long to ask.”

He gives her a  _ look _ and she can’t help a laugh. “Well, for a long time I was under the impression you weren’t interested in another relationship, Shmi.”

“Well, yes,” Shmi admits, “but I worked through that a couple of years ago. And we’ve been living together long enough most people assume we’ve already done this, you know.”

“Oh, well, you know, dear,” Qui says, coming over to her and kissing her temple, and she lets him tug her back against his chest,  _ “I _ might just have also been a little nervous.”

Shmi laughs.

She can’t help herself - everything’s been so tense and awful for the past month, at least, and this just feels so right and  _ good. _ “I love you,” she tells him, kissing his cheek, and then, “but if you want this soup to be ready for dinner you’re going to have to let me get back to cooking.”

“Are you sure?” Qui asks, teasing and warm, catches her chin in one hand so he can kiss her  _ properly, _ and she huffs a laugh against his lips.

“Yes, my dear, I’m sure.” She lets him hold her, for a moment, then adds, “If you’d like to make some bread to have with our soup, you can stay in the kitchen, but otherwise I’m banishing you.” She smiles up at him and he leans down to kiss her nose, and she swats his arm. “Behave, you.”

Qui laughs, warm and rich, squeezes her tightly for a minute before stepping back and going over to his bread-making things. He’s humming something, a folk song they sing at weddings, and Shmi smiles fondly at his back for a moment, then shakes her head and goes back to her soup.

Later that night, after dinner and once Rey’s been tucked into bed, Shmi goes into the kitchen and retrieves the vase of flowers, carefully pulls them out of the water and dries them off on a towel, trims the stems, and presses them in between the pages of one of Qui’s larger books and sets it on the table. Once the flowers have dried, she’ll get them framed, she thinks, hang them on the wall in their room.

She goes to find Qui, after - he’s outside with his coat on, standing on the porch looking out across the Victor’s Village, arms crossed and much quieter than he’s been all evening. Shmi steps up beside him, slips one arm through his and leans her head against his upper arm. “Hey,” she says, soft, smiling up at him. “What are you doing out here?”

Qui smiles back at her, leans over to kiss the top of her head. “I don’t know,” he says quietly. “Guess I’m trying to get used to being home.”

Shmi nods. “Do you really think he’s going to leave us alone now?” she asks, barely above a whisper, tightening her arm around his. She wants to be left alone, to enjoy the peace she’s  _ earned. _ Hasn’t her family been through enough already?

~~~

Qui-Gon looks down at his lovely friend and shifts a little, looks around the village and sighs a bit. He wishes she hadn’t asked him, because he’s been  _ happy _ today somehow, and he doesn’t want to remind her that he doesn’t think it can last. But he shakes his head and answers anyway, honest, quietly although at this point he doesn’t think anything they could discuss would make matters worse. “No,” he says. “He won’t, Shmi.”

Shmi leans against him, more, shoulders slumping inward, head bowing a little, and Qui-Gon holds her arm and shivers a little as a gust of wind whistles through his coat. Then, after a moment, he feels her straighten again, and she swallows and says, “Then we best make the most of what time we have.”

Qui-Gon turns, puts both arms around her and hugs her tightly. “It’ll be good,” he tells her. “We’ll make it count.”

Shmi kisses him, soft.

They’re both quiet for some time, watching as a soft snow begins to fall, piling up on top of the layer of slush on the road and covering the footprints they’d left when they came home. It’s cold, and Qui-Gon’s coat has seen better days so that it no longer does much against the wind, but he doesn’t really want to disturb all this to go back inside. At the moment, the cold and inclement weather are almost bracing.

Unsurprisingly, it’s Shmi who first sighs and breaks the quiet, pulling on his arm with a chiding look. “You need to sleep, love,” she says.

Qui-Gon hums. “So long as you’re coming too,” he answers, but starts inside as he’s told, holding the door for her to come in too.

“Of course I am,” she tells him, warmly and a little bit teasingly.

So they go to bed, curled up together to block out the world, and Qui-Gon almost doesn’t even mind how bittersweet it is. Perhaps for now they’ll be alright if they just focus on one thing at a time, and if they’re very lucky they’ll continue to have moments like these before the end. Perhaps they’ll at least have each other.

Over the next few weeks, they decide that they’ll get married as soon as they can make plans for it, hopefully when the snow is gone and everything’s warm again (although they both know that planning that far into the future is a risk), partly because Shmi takes his gift of fabric and says she’ll use it for a wedding dress. Qui-Gon helps her frame her pressed flowers and some nights he sits with her and combs her hair with the comb he’d gotten her from the Capitol and it feels as if things are better than okay, as if they’re  _ perfect, _ but there’s always a persistent anxiety in the back of Qui-Gon’s mind. The Capitol never lets go of anything, and Qui-Gon talks on the phone with some of the other Victors, who carefully inform him that things are getting worse, and there are shortages in supplies throughout the District. And it feels as if more Peacekeepers are sent in every few weeks, too, ones who aren’t as lenient as the Peacekeepers who have been stationed here for a long time.

Rex is given permission to transfer to Seven, and a house is prepared for him next to Obi-Wan’s, and Ahsoka seems so genuinely excited that Qui-Gon reserves his worries to himself - he does trust Rex, after all, after everything he’d seen in the Games and after. The boy is always careful with Ahsoka, and it’s not his fault things have taken such a terrible turn. Well, that is, no more his fault than it is Ahsoka’s.

Obi-Wan goes with Ahsoka to the station to meet Rex and help him with his things, while Qui-Gon goes to the market to get things for their supper - Ahsoka had asked if they could have Rex for dinner before he went home, and Qui-Gon and Shmi had agreed, although Shmi still seems a little reticent about all of it. Qui doesn’t think she really minds, but the Capitol keeps sending people to discuss the wedding with Ahsoka, and every time it makes Shmi angry.

As he’s finishing up his shopping, however, there’s a tremendous commotion on the edges of the market and when Qui looks up, he sees  _ Anakin, _ being shoved forward between two Peacekeepers while the District’s new commanding Peacekeeper follows behind at a measured pace. They’re headed down the street that leads to the City Center, for the stocks and the whipping post, and Qui-Gon grabs his bags of supplies and hurries after them, having to shoulder through the morning crowds of anxious people.

They’d caught Anakin hunting. The Head Peacekeeper, whose name is Grievous and who seems ever-eager to make a spectacle, announces Anakin’s sentence for everyone standing nearby to hear, then begins to whip Anakin himself. Qui-Gon badly wants to step in, but he can’t, because that would make it worse for both himself and Anakin, so he waits with his arms tight around his supplies, teeth gritted while most of the rest of the District flees the square.

It occurs to him, though, after what feels like forever, that the train must have come and gone, and Rex and Ahsoka and Obi-Wan will be going home and he  _ can’t _ let Ahsoka see this. Besides that, he thinks he’ll need help to get Obi home, so he hesitates and then leaves the square, quickly, hoping to find his family.

He does, too close to the city center entirely, and he tells Obi to come with him and asks Ahsoka to go home and take Rex and help Shmi with Rey, but he hasn’t been able to keep the worry from his face and before he can catch her, Ahsoka breaks away from Rex and Obi and sprints past him back to the city center.

They’re all lucky to escape without a whipping themselves, because Ahsoka and Rex shove themselves into the middle of Anakin’s punishment, and Qui-Gon sees that Grievous is contemplating stringing them all up for their insubordination, but he reminds him that the Capitol doesn’t want their Victors all scarred, and just before a wedding, too, and he sees Grievous give in, although when he puts away his whip the blood spatters Qui-Gon’s shirt and tells them to  _ get out. _

Qui-Gon hands Obi-Wan the supper groceries and picks up Anakin, careful, although it’s hard to hold him between the blood and the fact that Anakin is most certainly not a child anymore. But they get him to Sniper, and Qui-Gon leaves his blood-soaked coat on the floor, and when Shmi comes Qui-Gon pulls her into his chest and kisses her hair and tells her that Anakin will be okay, then lets go of her so she can go sit with Anakin and hold his hand. Anakin’s sweetheart, Padme, comes to sit with him, and the day outside turns sour at the threat of a snowstorm. Qui-Gon sees that Ahsoka and Rex need to leave, and he remembers that the District’s homeless children will probably come to his house tonight for shelter, and Rey must be worried, so he goes to Shmi and strokes her hair. “Will you be alright?” he asks, softly. “I think our kids will need our house tonight, I want to be there if they come.”

Shmi hesitates, for a long moment. “Padme wants to stay,” she says, “and Sniper isn’t prepared to host a crowd during a storm. I’ll come home with you.”

Qui-Gon nods and squeezes her shoulders, and after a little while they trudge their way back to his house through the storm with Rex and Ahsoka.

Anakin is allowed to come home after a few days to recover there, during which time they try to relax again and get used to the new normal. Rex is around a lot, which Anakin doesn’t seem to mind so much, anymore, and they all quietly agree that they can’t risk anyone going hunting anymore. Things are too tense - the District’s logging camps have been shut down, everyone’s locked themselves up at home and food is going scarce. Qui-Gon looks at his resources and begins rationing their food so they have enough for all of them and enough to help the rest of the District, and between his and Obi-Wan’s and Ahsoka’s and Rex’s Victor stipends, they’re able to make it work.

It’s a long winter, broken up only by planning for Ahsoka and Rex’s approaching Capitol wedding and a visit from two refugees from Three who tell them they’re looking for  _ Thirteen, _ of all places. Obi-Wan explains to Qui-Gon, quiet and secret and careful, that in fact Thirteen is not gone and may be more involved in the Capitol than they think. Qui-Gon doesn’t know what to do with that fact, so he puts the information away to think about at another time, because in the end it doesn’t seem to affect anything they do, and goes on with life as normal.


End file.
